


God's Child

by Riot_Siren



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 07:30:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 149,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riot_Siren/pseuds/Riot_Siren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherry Birkin's fate as you've never seen it before. Thrown into Wesker's world of intrigue, violence and madness, will she fight back against the darkness...or become part of it? SherryxWesker, SherryxJake. Reviews welcome!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_God's Child  
A Resident Evil Story  
_

By Riot Siren

* * *

Prologue

_Who calls this child to walk on her own?  
Who leads her down this treacherous road?  
She's dancing to a song we can't hear_

_Sweet little angel  
Whose child are you?_

_Come dance with me_

_God makes us dream  
But won't set us free  
God calls us dance to songs we can't hear_

_The song of the vampire  
The glory of love  
This is our kingdom  
But look what we've done!_

_Come dance with me_

_  
_

_-"God's Child," David Byrne and Selena_

* * *

_October 1, 1998_

_A federal office building somewhere in Washington D.C._

_  
_

"Do you have any relatives?"

The blond girl didn't answer. She was unmoving and unresponsive, just as she'd been for the past half-hour, sitting on a broad windowsill with her knees drawn up to her chest, her eyes cast down, staring at nothing. She was dressed in a dirty school uniform, over which she inexplicably wore an adult-sized red leather vest that looked like it was made for motorcycling.

Lieutenant Wilcox had only been given a brief summary of the girl's situation, but it was more than enough information to make him feel sorry for her. She was named Sherry Birkin, and she was one of a handful of survivors of the devastating Raccoon City pandemic that had occurred just days before. How terrible it must've been to watch all her friends and neighbors get sick and die. Had she seen her parents die too?

Wilcox wondered if he should tell the girl the latest news: At dawn that morning, Sherry's hometown had become a huge smoking crater, destroyed on the order of the President himself to prevent the pandemic's spread. He furrowed his brow and decided against it. She'd been through enough already. Wilcox also knew that Sherry was here in Washington D.C. with her guardian, another Raccoon City survivor, to be handed over into someone else's custody. He'd been asked to sit with Sherry while his superiors negotiated with her guardian—a man named Kennedy, Wilcox had gathered—in the other room.

The new guardian, who the lieutenant had yet to lay eyes on, claimed to be and old friend of the girl's dead father. Wilcox had no children of his own, having devoted his life to his military career. But it seemed to him that an orphaned child would be better off with a relative, any relative, than some family friend.

He tried again. "Hon, please tell me. Do you have any family?"

This time the girl looked up at him. "I really don't," she said softly. "All my grandparents are dead and both my mom and dad were only children."

He was taken aback, and hoped for her sake that this "family friend" was on the up-and-up.

"Well…" Wilcox began, wanting to offer some words of comfort. "We're all God's children, so that means you'll never be alone. Not _really_."

Just then the room's door swung open and Wilcox's superior officer and a man he could only assume was the "family friend" entered. The guardian Sherry had arrived with less and an hour before was nowhere to be seen.

"All right," the superior officer said. "Everything's wrapped up."

"Where…where's Leon?" Panic rose in the girl's voice as she got to her feet.

But Wilcox was surprised at how quickly her expression changed when she set eyes on the newcomer. He was tall, looked to be in his late 30's and was handsome by just about any standard, with light blond hair and a rather pale complexion. Eastern European descent, certainly. Perhaps German. He was dressed in a stylish dark suit and wore sunglasses even though he was indoors, making him look every inch the sinister "Man in Black" the public so often associated with government agencies.

"I know you!" Sherry blurted out. "You've been to my house for dinner!"

"Indeed I have." His voice was smooth and urbane. The man smiled at Sherry, which put Wilcox at ease.

"So," the superior officer continued. "I'll give you regular updates on Kennedy's progress and pass along intel on your people of interest. Security will see you out. Good seeing you, as always."

"As always," the blond man echoed, and the two shook hands. Wilcox's superior officer motioned that it was time for them to leave.

As the two men walked out the door, Wilcox cast a backwards glance at Sherry, who had crossed the room as was standing in front of the blond man. Wilcox watched as he knelt in front of the girl. Although the blond man now had his back to Wilcox, he could see him raise a hand to his face and remove his sunglasses.

Wilcox turned back to face the empty corridor, content that all was well. But just before he rounded the corner and left Sherry Birkin behind forever, Wilcox hear the girl say something very strange—something he would remember for a long time.

"Wow…What happened to your _eyes_?"


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

_You must be somewhere in London  
You must be loving your life in the rain  
You must be somewhere in London  
Walking Abbey Lane  
_

_-"England," The National_

* * *

November 1, 2004

London

Many people who've never been to New York City imagine it's a city made entirely of skyscrapers. Similarly, the woman known as Ada Wong found that people who'd never been to London sometimes assumed the entire city looked like Mayfair.

The buildings of that section of the city were grand and imposing, built in ornate styles such as English Baroque and Georgian, and there were many parks and broad boulevards to explore. It was also close to the center of London, and those old—and now largely symbolic—bastions of power: Westminster Abbey and Buckingham Palace. Unsurprisingly, Mayfair was also one of the most expensive places in London to live and do business.

Ada had no doubt that the townhouse she now stood in had cost millions. The décor was a striking symphony of peacock blue and crimson, accented with polished wood, dark marble and burnished gold. During the six years he'd owned the house, Albert Wesker had also managed to accumulate a sizable art collection. There was no discernible theme—abstract modern works, Renaissance religious art, Gilded Age portraiture, even Chinese scroll paintings—but it somehow worked.

Ada had never personally visited the infamous Spencer Mansion, but she'd seen photos of it, and the townhouse's interior bore more than a passing resemblance. It stood to reason, she supposed. Wesker had spent many years at the isolated estate as an Umbrella researcher. A place like that was bound to leave an impression on a person.

Ada had arrived less than an hour ago with her small amount of luggage. Her sometime-employer had greeted her at the door.

"Punctual. But I expected nothing less," Wesker said dryly as he closed the heavy wooden door behind her. "You'll be in your usual room on the second floor. We'll talk in the study once you're settled in."

"Is Sherry around?" Ada called after Wesker, who was already walking away, no doubt returning to a task far more important than welcoming her.

"She's at a café down the street. I don't like to interrupt her when she's studying. She knows we have dinner reservations." His voice echoed slightly in the large foyer.

Ada shrugged to herself and started towards the stairs. Wesker's skills at manipulation never ceased to impress her. He'd given Sherry independence but not freedom.

* * *

A few minutes later with her luggage stowed away and her evening attire in place, Ada found herself in the large study located at the rear of the townhouse's first floor. The study, originally the formal dining hall, was a long, chestnut-paneled room lined with stuffed bookshelves. There were books on every imaginable topic, a veritable library. It was enough to make Ada, a glutton for the written word, think that under different circumstances, she and Wesker might've been friends.

The requisite roaring fireplace graced the room's right end. This was also the side of the room that Wesker occupied with his desk and neat stacks of files and papers. The hall's left side was more suited to socialization, with a few impeccably upholstered couches and chairs and a grand piano. The study was the inner sanctum for the townhouse's occupants—part Wesker's office, part Sherry's lounge.

The rest of the downstairs consisted of a rarely-used formal living room, a small dining room and a modernized kitchen. All these rooms were connected by the grand foyer, a space that extended the full three stories of the house and was capped in a stunning wrought-iron skylight. A sweeping staircase linked the three floors. The second floor consisted of the master bedrooms suites, and he third floor had guest rooms, storage, and an exercise room. And in the basement was...

"What do you think of the new painting?" Wesker asked Ada without looking up from the laptop on his desk. "I finally got around to hanging it last week."

Ada walked to the back of the room where four large, beautifully famed painted portraits were displayed in a row. The painting on the far left was very old, from sometime in the late 1700's. Wesker had salvaged it from Rockfort Island, the now-ruined stronghold of one of Umbrella's founding families, the Ashfords.

The portrait depicted a seated woman, resplendent in a bright purple gown, her chestnut brown hair pulled back in a matronly chignon. She held a porcelain teacup in her right hand and her left arm rested on an open book. Her head was tilted so that her gaze did not meet the viewers', and she seemed sly and coquettish, but nonetheless noble.

This was the great Veronica Ashford, the woman whose fortune and social position had set the stage for the Ashford family's dubious success. However, only a few people in the world now remembered Veronica. Wesker was one of them.

The next portrait on the wall, to the right of Veronica's, was a modern depiction of a black-haired beauty in a red Renaissance-style dress. In the painting, she leaned almost aggressively over an ornate couch. Her angular face and dark, arresting gaze seemed to challenge the viewer. It was an imagined portrait of Lisa Trevor, a girl who had fallen into Umbrella's clutches in the 1960's when her architect father made the mistake of accepting a British nobleman's request to build an Old World-style mansion in the forests of midwestern America.

Although the painting depicted Lisa as a woman in her 30's, she had ceased to look human long before she reached that age. Ada knew about Lisa Trevor; Wesker had told her of the girl's sad fate. Early in her captivity, Umbrella's scientists had pumped Lisa full of a version of the Progenitor virus, mutating her beyond all recognition or sanity.

And yet, when Wesker himself became a junior researcher at the Spencer Mansion facility years later, Lisa had still been alive. Somehow, the experiments granted Lisa a seeming immortality, and it was through her that many of Umbrella's most powerful—and most dangerous—discoveries were made. But to the best of anyone's knowledge, this tortured soul was finally dead, killed in the 1998 explosion that leveled the Spencer Mansion and its grounds.

The next portrait was yet another salvaged item from Rockfort Island. The artist seemed to have attempted to copy the style of Veronica Ashford's portrait. Furthermore, the sitter, a blond girl of ten or eleven, was dressed in a purple gown that was strikingly similar to Veronica's. Her face was serene, and her gloved hands were folded neatly in her lap. Like Veronica, the girl's face was turned to the side so she remained aloof and enigmatic.

Ada paused a moment to stare at this painting of Alexia Ashford, a woman whose life story was ever more outrageous than Lisa Trevor's. Raised as the daughter of Alexander Ashford, who himself was the son of Umbrella co-founder Edward Ashford, Alexia was in fact a test-tube baby. Purportedly, she was a clone of Veronica herself, created from a sample of the noblewoman's mummified tissue.

Ada had always had a hard time swallowing that story. For one thing, history recorded Veronica as a brunette, and Alexia's hair was white-blond. But whatever the truth, the revelation of her unnatural origins had been enough to drive Alexia and her twin brother Alfred mad.

The two undeniable aspects of Alexia's life were her scientific brilliance and her deviant tastes. By the age of ten, she'd already graduated from college and been put in charge of Umbrella's Antarctic research facility. She went on to imprison her father and used him as a scientific guinea pig, commit incest with her mentally unstable brother, and later injected herself with a pathogen of her own design—the T-Veronica virus.

But despite all her depraved actions, Ada had to admit that Alexia's plan was quite brilliant, at least on paper. She faked her death and put herself into cryogenic stasis so her body could adjust to the virus instead of being taken over by it. Fifteen years later, and just months after the destruction of Raccoon City, Alexia emerged from her hibernation as a super-being, only for her and Alfred to be killed by another brother-sister duo, the Redfields.

But the final portrait, the one just added, was of someone still alive. Like the three other women, the portrait of Sherry Brikin depicted her sitting. She was facing the viewer, her pose relaxed yet elegant, with her left arm dangling over the side of the chair she sat in. In the painting, Sherry wore a low-cut blue ball gown with a pink sash wrapped obi-like around her waist. Her gaze met the viewer's dead-on but seemed content, not accusatory like Lisa's steely gaze. Sherry had matured into quite a striking beauty, having inherited her mother's high cheekbones and large, dark blue eyes.

Around Sherry's neck was her ever-present gold locket, an item Ada knew all too well. On that hellish night of September 29th, 1998, when 12-year-old Sherry was wandering the streets of Raccoon City looking for her lost parents, she'd dropped the locket in a panic when she thought she saw a monster.

But it was not a monster who found the locket. It was Ada, who was conducting a reconnaissance mission for Wesker. And ironically enough, Sherry's locket had held Ada's objective: a tiny vial containing a sample of the infamous G virus, placed there by her scientist father, William Birkin.

A few days later in Washington D.C., Sherry was escorted into the back of a Towncar by Wesker, and Ada had been there in the back seat, waiting to give the girl the last remnant of her family and former life. Ada still recalled how Sherry had wept softly as she held the necklace again.

Despite the considerable pain she was in from her heavily bandaged wounds, Ada had tried to comfort her, putting her arm around Sherry's shoulders and whispering "it will be okay" over and over again. She hadn't been able to think of anything better to say.

But the most interesting part of that ride had been Wesker's reaction to Sherry's grief. Despite his ever-present sunglasses, Ada could tell that his burning red eyes never left the girl's face. He did not speak, but he was visibly tense for the whole trip. He seemed transfixed.

Later, in their hotel suite, Ada looked over the passports Wesker had secured for them. She had to admire Wesker's thoroughness. They now had assumed names and Sherry's passport had a new birthdate that made her several years older than she actually was. And yet...

_I'm not Ada Wong any more._

The scars and wounds on her body now belonged to someone else. Ada let herself cry while leaning again the mirror in her room. She thought about Leon for a long time and her tears fell as much for him as they did for herself. Finally, she cried for both them—the "them" that would never exist.

That night, she caught Wesker standing in the doorway of Sherry's bedroom. Restored by a shower and decent meal, Sherry now slept peacefully in her oversized hotel bed, her chest rising and falling slowly beneath a new periwinkle blue nightgown.

"Birkin, I'd never underestimate you," she heard Wesker mutter under his breath. "There's something about this little girl..."

They'd left the country the next day on the first flight from Dulles to Heathrow.

Pushing the memory aside, Ada peered more closely at Sherry's portrait. Something about it bothered her. The young woman depicted in it wasn't merely relaxed. The dress showed off her cleavage and her wavy honey blond hair cascaded carelessly over her shoulders. She was languid, sensual. Inviting.

Sherry and Wesker's official cover was that they were father and daughter. He even maintained that fiction among his business associates who knew about Wesker's past with Umbrella. Not even the household staff knew their real identities. But this was hardly the type of portrait most parents would commission for their teenage daughter. It depicted her as a mature woman, seen through the eyes of an admiring man.

Ada felt her stomach lurch. She told herself she was imagining things. Sherry had probably just chosen the pose from a fashion magazine.

"It's a good likeness," Ada said, trying to keep her tone casual. "The artist knew what he was doing."

* * *

Sherry rocked back in her chair and sighed at the textbook in front of her. It was almost time to head home but she felt like she hadn't accomplished anything after nearly three hours sitting in the café—besides spending too much money on too many cups of coffee.

In theory, she was supposed to be studying biology, but her mind kept wandering. Why, on today of all days, did her mind have to fixate on what had happened over the summer, on what was _still_ happening...?

Sherry suddenly felt warm and pressed her eyes closed. No use in staying any longer. She packed up her textbook and notepad, pulled on her coat and headed out into the chilly autumn afternoon. The townhouse was just a few blocks away, but Sherry took a detour through the east side of Hyde Park to enjoy what was left of the overcast day's hazy sunlight.

Ada had probably arrived, but for the first time since she'd known the older woman, Sherry wasn't in a rush to see her. She feared that Ada would be able to tell that things were somehow different. A woman like Ada could discern so much from just a look, a careless glance...

Had it really been six years? Sherry felt her pensive mood deepening as she neared home. Yes, six years since she lost her parents and began this strange new existence. Sherry lived in the middle of one of the world's largest cities and yet she was isolated from everyone around her by an invisible wall of experience and memory.

She could still vividly recall her first few days London. She's been desperately homesick, though she knew there was no home to go back to. Still, Sherry ached for her family's bungalow at the end of a tree-shaded street with its solid Craftsman style furniture and worn Persian carpets. She pined for her mother's frustrated sighs in the kitchen as she made her millionth cooking blunder and missed the way her father would look up from his papers and ruffle her hair.

Her new bedroom had provided some comfort. It was like something out of a fairytale, with beautiful floral wallpaper and a canopy bed fit for a princess. But the nightmares started almost immediately, and it took Sherry time to get used to the large townhouse. And she was still mourning her parents, as strange and inadequate as they'd been for much of her life.

Wesker had retained a small, discrete household staff to look after Sherry's needs and Ada stayed with them for a while to recuperate from her injuries. She'd explained the Raccoon City outbreak to Sherry, but dropped her gaze and became silent whenever the girl asked about Leon and Claire's whereabouts. Soon, Sherry simply stopped asking.

New furnishings arrived daily, and Wesker came and went without paying much attention to Sherry or Ada. Still, Sherry felt his gaze on her sometimes when he thought she wasn't looking. Before long, Ada had recovered and was off to parts unknown.

The wind picked up as she walked through the park and Sherry recalled a night about a month after her arrival in London, when she spent the chilly evening sprawled in one of the study's overstuffed armchairs. Gwendolyn, the head housekeeper, lit a fire at the room's far end and Sherry could hear the wind whistling outside. The room was barely illuminated except for the fire and Sherry's reading lamp. She had a bowl of popcorn perched on the chair's arm. In other words, it was a perfect autumn night.

Sherry got up to grab a fleece blanket from the nearby couch and resettled herself with a book. Just then, she heard the front door open. Gwendolyn's muffled voice echoed across the foyer.

"Good evening, sir...Yes, she's in the study."

Wesker was back from yet another mysterious trip. Sherry put down her book as he entered the room. He took off his suit jacket and mirrored aviator sunglasses, tossing them on a nearby table, and sat down on the end of the couch closest to Sherry's chair. Now their eyes were level. Now they could talk.

"You're looking well," Wesker said casually. "I hope you've settled in."

"I...think so," she answered tentatively. "Will we—I mean, can I stay here? Is this where I live now?"

"Yes. And you are safe here. I can promise you that."

Sherry sat up straighter, regarding Wesker with a renewed curiosity. "You don't hide your eyes around me," she said. "I like that." Wesker smiled faintly at this but Sherry continued. "You still haven't told me how they turned red."

"Let's just say...I'm an ongoing experiment." He smirked, seeming quite please with this witty answer. Sherry just shrugged and cracked her book open again. Adults and their secrets. "What are you reading?" Wesker asked.

"A book of Native American myths."

"You should be reading about the history of England. After all, you live here now."

"That's what I did all day," Sherry said, pointing to a stack of books on the adjacent coffee table.

"Fair enough. So tell me about these myths."

"I'm reading about skinwalkers," Sherry began. "It's a Navajo story. They're sort of like witches, but a bit like werewolves too. It's complicated."

"Try me." That odd half-smile again.

Sherry took a deep breath and read aloud. "The curse does not befall the skinwalker by chance. He seeks it out. He willingly breaks the highest taboos of the People. He murders those closest to him and desecrates the dead. That is how he gains his power. The People say, 'with it, he goes on all fours.'"

She looked up to gauge Wesker's interest. Outside the wind gusted and made the windows rattle.

"It's the perfect story for a night like this. What's next?"

"Now he is cast out and must wander the desert," Sherry continued, trying to make her voice suitably dramatic. "But it is what he wanted. He never cared about the People, their rules, their ways. Now he can become any animal he chooses. He walks on wings, paws, hooves. The People fear him, for he can come in any form. They fear him because he can possess _anyone_. They fear him because he has _become_ the things that he's done." Sherry sat back in her chair, her recitation finished. Now it was her turn to smirk. "Oh, and the book also says skinwalkers' eyes are red and they glow in the dark. So there's that."

Wesker suddenly seemed uneasy. "Yes, there's that," he echoed, shifting in his seat.

Had Sherry's comment upset him? She felt the sudden urge to apologize but Wesker had already moved on.

"We need to talk about something very important," he said. "You probably never knew this, but your father and I were quite close, so I'm more than happy to look after you. However, people need to believe that you're my daughter."

Sherry cocked her head. "That's okay, I guess. But why?"

"Because no one can know who we really are," Wesker replied, a sudden sternness in his voice. "Officially, you are still in a U.S. Government witness protection program. Some very highly-placed people helped me take you out of the country. If anyone ever discovered your identity, it would cause a chain reaction that even I could not stop."

"Wow, sounds pretty serious." Sherry folded her arms and leaned back in her chair. "But what about Ada? She knows the truth."

"She can be trusted. She has nothing to gain by betraying us."

_Us._ Sherry liked the sound of that word.

"Fine, I'll call you 'dad' in front of other people. And I won't tell anyone who I really am. But when it's just us, how about..." Sherry let her eyes wander up to the ceiling as her playful mood returned. "How about I just call you 'Al'?"

Now Wesker smiled at her in ernest. And she smiled back.

* * *

That evening was also the first time he drew Sherry's blood. Wesker seemed to be looking for something, but it would be a few more days before he emerged from the townhouse's off-limited basement to announce that Sherry hadn't actually been cured of the G virus. Not really. The antiviral drug that saved her life in Raccoon City had severely weakened the virus, causing it to go into a harmless dormant state. Wesker doubted the remnants would ever cause Sherry to mutate like her unfortunate father. Transmitting the pathogen to others was, to Sherry's great relief, equally unlikely. But the virus would be a part of her forever.

Next, Wesker hired skilled tutors to continue Sherry's education. When he found out she'd been taking piano lessons before the Raccoon City outbreak, he bought a grand piano and found an exacting teacher who pushed Sherry's musical skills to a near-professional level.

She had a pleasant singing voice, surprisingly strong and clear, but she sang mostly for herself as a kind of therapy on her more difficult days. The hours Sherry spent alone at the piano proved to be some of her happiest moments in the ensuing years.

Other bright moments came courtesy of Wesker himself. Although he never told her details of the "activities" that kept him away for days or even weeks at a stretch, he spent time with Sherry whenever he was home. They often went for walks where he quizzed her on recent lessons and told Sherry more about her parents, what their lives had been like when they were young. Sherry often wondered if she was the only person he had to confide in.

Time passed. Trauma faded into memory and her days settled into a comfortable pattern. Sherry took up jogging when she was 14 and got to know a few other teens in the neighborhood. Her limbs and hair lengthened and her voice deepened until it sounded very much like her mother's—but without Annette's bitter edge. She had her studies, her music and, although it felt odd to admit it, she had a companion. But the whole time, Sherry held out hope for a normal life.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_They say the poisoned vine  
Breeds a finer wine_

_-"Our Love Is Easy," Melody Gardot_

* * *

It was time to stop delaying the inevitable. As she mounted the front steps, Sherry self-consciously touched the small bump behind her right ear where a tracking device was implanted. So many little things served to remind her that she wasn't like other 18-year-olds.

Ada came into the foyer when she heard the front door open. The older woman was beaming and quickly crossed the room to embrace Sherry.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting!" Sherry said. Her anxiety immediately began to evaporate. Why _would_ Ada suspect anything? She was a professional, here to be briefed on her next mission. She had better things to do than scrutinize Sherry's behavior.

Ada laughed. "Only a little while. But we should get going soon."

The women walked side-by-side across the foyer.

"I keep forgetting you're as tall as me now." Ada shot Sherry an affectionate sideways glance.

"It's my high protein diet," Sherry deadpanned as she broke for the stairs. They both laughed. "Tell Al I'll be down in 15 minutes."

* * *

Sherry had been trying to dress more maturely since her birthday five months before. She chose a new purchase from her closet—a dark orange A-line dress—and pulled on a pair of black tights. She put on her locket and began hunting around her room for suitable high heels, but her favorite black patent pair was missing in action.

Sherry hadn't dressed up for her birthday in June, opting for her usual "uniform" of yoga pants and a comfy cotton T-shirt. Her birthday dinner was always a casual affair, just her and Wesker. But it was one of the few times a year they used the townhouse's small, intimate dining room. Sherry usually pulled a stool up to the granite-topped kitchen island for meals. And when Wesker ate—if he ate at all—it was alone and at odd hours.

Their personal chef had made Sherry's favorite, duck a l'orange, and given her a bottle of pinot noir as a gift. Sherry remembered pouring the crimson liquid into cut crystal glasses with barely restrained glee. Eighteen and able to drink legally in Britain! After a few sips, Sherry felt warm down to the tips of her toes.

Wesker set his mirrored sunglasses on the table and pinched the bridge of his nose as if it were sore. He'd dismissed the staff early that day and was finally able to be himself. Wesker had just returned that morning from several days away and seemed a bit tired, which was unusual for him. Sherry passed him a glass but they did not toast.

"Things are going very well with my new business partners," Wesker said casually.

"Oh?" Sherry's interest was piqued. He rarely talked about his work. Something big must've happened. Normally she wouldn't press for details, but Sherry already felt the wine making her looser, brasher. "They're the ones you started working with last year, right? What're they called again?"

"Yes, Tricell," he replied. "The relationship with them is finally starting to bear fruit. In fact, I will be going to their Zurich facility on Thursday. I should be back by the 20th." He was grinning now and considering his wineglass with a look of satisfaction. "But on Wednesday, their top executives will here for a little gathering. I suppose you could call it a gesture of goodwill."

" _This_ Wednesday? As in _tomorrow_?" Sherry lurched forward in her seat. After six years of semi-isolation, this was practically a bombshell. "You're letting _strangers_ into the house?"

"Not strangers. I've met all of them before." Wesker was politely ignoring Sherry's growing tipsiness. "One of the executives arrives early tomorrow. They'll help coordinate the reception. You can help as well, if you'd like."

"Sure! That sounds great!"

"Also...I've been thinking," Wesker's voice dropped as he locked Sherry in his gaze. "It's about time you entered the family business, as it were."

Sherry instantly felt dead sober. "What do you mean? What can I possibly...?" She shook her head and squeezed her eyes closed. "I don't understand."

"Sherry, you have so much _potential_ ," Wesker said with sudden conviction. "Tricell has an executive training program, similar to the one you father and I went through at Umbrella. I happen to think you'd make an excellent candidate."

Sherry set her fork down and let her gaze fall to her dinner plate. She felt queasy. Was he seriously springing this on her during her birthday dinner? But if she didn't say something now...

"You want me follow my parents' path..." She paused, fearing her voice might break. "Even though it killed them?"

"That's not—"

Sherry looked up, satisfied to see Wesker momentarily flustered. But he quickly recovered. "That's not what I'm suggesting," he said. "I don't need more scientists. I need people who can _lead._ "

"Lead _what_ , Al _?_ " Sherry had all but forgotten about dinner. She was now in full-on attack mode. Usually their arguments were invigorating, even fun. But this time was different.

"I don't even know what you really do! _Something_ about those viruses that killed my mom and dad. _Something_ that makes you travel all the time but never tell me where you're going. You know how crazy this all sounds, right?"

She was standing now, palms pressed against the polished wood table, her long blond hair spilling over her shoulders. Sherry hoped she looked like an angry caged animal because she certainly felt like one. Wesker just started back at her, the slightest glint of annoyance in his red eyes. But he said nothing.

"Am I your prisoner?" Sherry had never asked him that before. It was a horrifying thought and Sherry suddenly, desperately needed an answer. Still no response. Wesker almost seemed to be losing interest in her tantrum.

"Am I?" she shouted.

"Sit. _Down!_ " Wesker's voice was a controlled roar, deployed like a precision weapon. Sherry let out an involuntarily squeak and plunked back down into her chair. He'd never been angry at her, not in six years. For the first time in a long time, Sherry felt a twinge of fear.

Wesker folded his arms as he learned back in his chair. "Let me explain." His voice still had a slight edge. "Up until now, I've protected you from certain truths for your own good. But I believe you are ready now. After all, I've been preparing you for six years."

"Preparing me how?" Sherry was genuinely perplexed but had at least calmed down a bit.

"What have the focus of you studies been since you started living here?"

"Hmmm..." Sherry looked up at the ceiling and started counting off topics. "History, politics, law, economics, business." The realization dawned on her. She was being groomed. "And you really couldn't tell me this until now?" she asked.

"I've seen what happens when young people are exposed to Umbrella's work. The consequences aren't always...favorable."

An uncomfortable silence settled between them. Wesker seemed lost in his thoughts, perhaps remembering some unfortunate youth who'd been brought into Umbrella's fold too soon and had seen and even done unspeakable things.

"I didn't used to care, you know," Sherry said softly, breaking the silence. "I didn't worry about whether I was a captive or a guest or whatever. I was just happy to be safe. But I don't jump at my own shadow any more." She made herself sit up straighter, needing her next words to carry weight. "And I'm ready to make my own way."

Wesker raised an eyebrow. "What exactly do you have in mind?"

Sherry felt herself back on firmer ground. He was finally taking her seriously. She planted her elbows on the table and leaned forward.

"I want to go to college." Wesker opened his mouth to respond but Sherry cut him off. "And you know I'll need your help to make it happen. I'll do an MBA, international relations, whatever you think will be the most useful."

_Just give me a chance!_

"Sherry, that's not the point. College would be a waste of your time."

"You don't know that," she shot back.

"Yes, I do. We are not like other people," Wesker began. "We have an obligation to explore the parts of life that others are afraid to even—"

"Tell me you'll think about it. Commit to that much."

Wesker chuckled then sighed. "Ah, a hard-charging negotiator. You've learned your lessons well and now you want to leave me behind."

"I'll come home whenever you need me," Sherry blurted eagerly—too eagerly. Her gaze immediately dropped to her dinner plate and she felt herself blush. But why?

Sherry had been pushing full speed ahead but was now derailed, frozen with the sudden, awkward gravity of her words. She heard Wesker clear his throat. His gaze was on her, burning. She could feel it. But she didn't dare look up.

There was something in the room with them now—a feeling that Sherry could not name. It hung in the air around them, oppressive and yet somehow captivating. Did he feel it too? Sherry sensed something stirring, felt a tingling at the base of her spine. Was this feeling new, or had it been there for a long time, waking gradually within her?

For the second time that night, Sherry winced with the old familiar sting of fear. But this time, it was directed inward.

"Consider all the options," Wesker said at last, breaking the strange spell that had settled over the room. "I suppose college is up for discussion, if it's what you really want. But so is the apprenticeship with Tricell. There's no need to make a decision tonight."

He seemed to considered the matter resolved and started in on his dinner. With a sigh, Sherry did the same and reached for the wine bottle. It was still her birthday after all.

* * *

Later, Sherry lay awake in bed with the room swaying slightly around her. Her thoughts were racing. Perhaps the choice was not quite so stark, but in her less-than-sober haze, it seemed like she only had two extreme options. On on hand, Sherry could choose the life her parents had. She could enter that all-consuming, secretive world of untold dangers. Still, at least Wesker would be there with her.

Or she could attempt to rejoin the outside world. She might still convince Wesker to let her go to college, hopefully somewhere outside London. Then she could run away, get back to America. Surely there would be people willing to help her. Yes, surely she'd find her way. But if she did that, she'd probably never see Wesker again.

_And now you want to leave me behind._

Sherry wanted to cry. What did he want from her? Why now? Was she going to end up like the three women in the mysterious paintings that hung behind Wesker's desk, trapped in limbo forever?

Sherry heard Wesker's footsteps on the landing outside her bedroom door. She didn't hear the door to his room open. Was he just standing there? For what seemed like an eternity, Sherry held her breath.

Abruptly, the footsteps moved on. Another door opened and was quickly closed. She exhaled, knowing that it had taken every ounce of her self control to stop herself from calling out to him, from asking him to come in.

* * *

Sherry still couldn't find her black pumps. She'd have to pick another pair. Returning to her closet, she pushed aside the hanging clothes to get at some shoeboxes. Her hand hit a black silk dress.

She paused, considering the long, sleek garment for a moment. She hadn't worn the dress since that night...

The morning after her birthday dinner, Sherry had felt sluggish and achy but made herself go for a jog anyway. On her iPod, she listened to a song she was currently learning on the piano, Annie Lennox's "Walking on Broken Glass." She knew Wesker preferred Classical, but she liked to slip contemporary music into her repertoire for fun. The bouncy song put her in a good mood despite its overwrought lyrics.

"Sherry!" Someone shouted behind her. "Hallo, Sherr-eee Tre-vor!"

She'd never gotten used to that alias for her last name. It would always sound odd to her. But she recognized the voice, stopped and wheeled around grinning.

"Hi, Ted! You're up early."

Ted lived one street over from Sherry. They were the same age and sometimes got together with Ted's friends to see a movie or hang out at a café. His father was a high-level banker in London's financial district.

Sherry found that she got on well with Ted and his group. In a culture where choice of school and family connections were everything, an obscure home-tutored girl like Sherry should've been shunned as "vulgar." Instead, Ted had recognized a kindred spirit in her. They were both children of privilege, in their ways. Sherry sometimes wondered if Ted's friends saw her as a novelty—the half-orphaned American girl who was impressed by their stories of exotic vacations and brushes with royalty. But if they were using her, then she was using them right back. She welcomed any excuse to get out of the house for a few hours and feel like a normal teenager.

Sherry saw that Ted was dressed in workout clothes. He strode across the grass quickly, already launching into conversation even though he was still only within shouting distance.

"You inspired me, you know! It's my resolution for summer—get fit before university. But it's turned into a bit more of a leisurely _stroll_." Ted wasn't conventionally attractive. He had a long face, pointy nose and a rather unremarkable mop of sandy blond hair. But he made up for his physical shortcomings with a witty personality. "How _do_ you do this every morning?"

Sherry laughed and shrugged. "Maybe I have something to run from."

"Now _that's_ very dark. And how is my American friend? It's been ages."

"Oh, I'm on my gap year. You know. Travel, spend some time with my dad. Still trying to figure out where I'm going to go to college—I mean, university." Sherry hoped she sounded convincing.

"Well I'm glad I ran into you," Ted began, his voice dripping with mischief. " _Speaking_ of travel, my best mate Steve and I are going to Ibiza for a week. Amelia's coming too with some of her friends. But one of the girls had to cancel last-minute and everything's already booked _soooo_...maybe you could come instead?"

Sherry felt a shiver go down her spine. There was no way Wesker would let her go, especially not after her tantrum last night. But if he was going out of town anyway...

"When are you leaving?" she asked softly.

"First thing this Friday. Plan is to be in the clubs by sundown. We'll come back next Saturday—that's the 19th, I think."

It was too perfect.

Sherry bit her lip and looked down at the grass. She _did_ have access to money—her "allowance" bank account always had a few thousand pounds in it. Not enough to run off and start a new life with by any means, but certainly enough to have some fun.

Ted cocked his head incredulously. "Good God, Sherry. You'd think I'd just invited you to a funeral."

She look up. The anger Sherry had felt the previous evening suddenly came rushing back.

_No Ted,_ you're _not the one who invited me to a funeral._

"Can you get my plane ticket and I'll pay you back Friday?"

"Really? You'll come? Brilliant!" He beamed and excitedly rubbed his hands together. "Yes, yes, no worries! I'll take care of the ticket and email you the details today."

* * *

It was still early when Sherry got back to the townhouse, not quite 9am. She opened the front door and heard an unfamiliar voice echoing from somewhere on the first floor. There were several pieces of Louis Vuitton luggage sitting next to the stairs.

As Sherry paused her iPod and pulled out her earbuds, she realized the voice was female. There was Wesker's voice too.

Sherry walked into the kitchen and saw a woman leaning against the central island. Wesker had his back turned to the door, but Sherry could tell that something was different about him. He usually stood ramrod straight, but he was learning on the counter too. Wesker was wearing his sunglasses again, but did he somehow look more...normal?

She'd just interrupted what seemed to be a very pleasant conversation between the two adults. They both turned to look at Sherry. The woman, who was stunningly beautiful with dark almond-shaped eyes and dramatically arched eyebrows, smiled broadly at Sherry.

"And this must be your lovely daughter." She spoke with a thick Italian accent. There was an odd mocking tone in the woman's voice, and it put Sherry on edge.

"Sherry, this is Excella Gionne," Wesker said. "She's an executive with Tricell. I told you she'd be visiting."

"Oh," was all Sherry could muster. Excella was tall and model-thin, with olive skin and long black hair that spoke to her Mediterranean origins. She was wearing a tight-fitting velour tracksuit in teal that showed off her busty figure. Bright gold jewelry glinted at her neck and earlobes.

"So I hear you're going to be my little helper today?" Excella purred.

Sherry glanced towards Wesker, incredulous and wide-eyed. Was this woman for real?

"Yes, she can't wait. Sherry, why don't you run upstairs and change." It was an order, not a question.

"Fine, give me 20 minutes," she answered tersely before turing on her heel and heading back towards the foyer.

Excella let out a quick, surprised laugh. "Well _somebody's_ not in a good mood today."

* * *

Sherry had just made it to the second floor landing when a hand grasped her right arm from behind. She didn't start. She didn't even turn to look Wesker in the eye.

"These outbursts are becoming tiring," he hissed. "I need you to start cooperating _right now._ Do you understand?" Wesker was bending over slightly so his mouth was on level with Sherry's right ear. His breath felt hot against the side of her face.

"Why do you keep assuming I'll just go along with everything you want?" Sherry tried her best to keep her voice down. "Who the hell is she anyway? She looks like a hooker."

There was a sound like a deep growl in her ear. Still Sherry refused to turn and face him. She sensed the bulk of his body behind her, tense and full of power like an enormous coiled spring. Sherry heard her own blood pounding furiously in her ears.

"Excella is a member of one of Tricell's founding families," Wesker began, slightly relaxing his grip on Sherry's arm. "She doesn't have much power yet, but she will soon enough, and I need to win her support if I want to influence Tricell's leadership. So you will put up with her just like I have to put up with her."

"Wow Al, I love how you didn't tell me any of this last night."

"I was going to, but were you in any mood to listen?" Wesker abruptly released her and gave Sherry a little shove towards her bedroom door. "You'll accompany Excella wherever she needs to go today. You will be friendly and accommodating. And don't forget, you already agreed to do this."

* * *

_Be nice be nice be nice._

Sherry struggled to think of something positive to say and she moped along behind Excella. They'd left the townhouse and were now walking toward the street corner to catch a cab. She was still thinking about her secret plans with Ted and his friends, trying to figure out what to pack and how she could get the staff to cover for her absence. And what about the inevitable tan she'd get?

"I uhh...like your tracksuit." Sherry finally managed.

"Thank you! It's Versace, believe it or not. Most everything I wear is either Versace or McQueen," Excella had clearly hit upon a subject where she held mastery. "Which designers do you prefer?"

"I mostly wear sportswear, to be honest," Sherry said softly. She was out of her depth and she knew it.

"Well those jeans you've got on are cute. Now dear, let's get you some breakfast." Excella beckoned with one impeccably manicured finger.

"No worries! I'm fine, really," Sherry said quickly, waving her hands in front of her.

"My dear, _please_. I know a hangover when I see one."

One giant omelet and about half a gallon of Irish breakfast tea later, Sherry felt much better. For her part, Excella picked at her fruit salad, even occasionally taking a bite. The older woman had chosen the restaurant's most secluded table, a fact not lost on Sherry. Excella suddenly leaned forward conspiratorially.

"Your father is a most remarkable man," she said. "I know his schedule must be difficult on you, but believe me, he is doing very important work."

"Sure, yeah," Sherry eyed Excella's uneaten salad. How the hell was she supposed to answer that? "I mean, he's great."

"I cannot begin to imagine what it's been like for you. He told me about your mother." Excella was fishing for something. A confession? Information?

_She doesn't have much power yet, but she will soon enough._

Sherry realized that she was standing on the threshold of Wesker's—and by extension, her parents'—world. Excella didn't know it, but she was baiting the younger woman to take the first step. Surely yanking this bimbo's chain wasn't tantamount to accepting Wesker's offer. But did she dare...?

Sherry unclasped her locket, opened it and handed it to Excella.

"That's my mom and her brother—my uncle. They died together in a car accident when I was 12. It's been just me and dad for six years, so we're pretty close."

"My dear, you look so much like them!"

"Oh, thank you." Sherry feigned bashfulness as she took the necklace back.

Excella cast her eyes down. "Do you think...That is, would he ever remarry?"

There was the crux of it. Sherry was almost unable to hide her surprise. No, not surprise. Anger. Who the hell did Excella think she was?

Sherry absently picked at the remnants of her breakfast and sighed to center herself.

_And I need to win her support..._

"I don't know," she said as casually as she could. "He's pretty set in his ways. But if he meets the right person...Anything's possible, right?"

Excella raised her eyebrows at this but simply nodded. Sherry felt a sudden rush of giddiness, but decided to let Excella interpret her grin however she wanted.

Was it really this easy to lie?

* * *

The next few hours were taken up by cab rides as they crisscrossed London's toniest neighborhoods. They visited a florist, a caterer and an expensive boutique were Excella bought nothing but white candles. The whole time, Sherry watched Excella carefully. She was so confident, so sure of herself. She wielded her body and beauty, vulgar though they were, like a weapon.

_So this is jealously_ , Sherry thought. _What a pair we make: the sullen girl in ratty jeans and ballet flats and the bimbo Amazon._

Again, the thought crossed her mind: _How far can I push this?_

"I was wondering, since we're already out and about..." Sherry began tentatively. "I sort of have some shopping to do."

Excella's eyes lit up. "Oh? What do you need?"

"Just some summer clothes, maybe a couple bikinis," Sherry shrugged and grinned innocently. "Nothing major."

* * *

Several hours later, Sherry was back in her room assessing the day's haul. She could hardly believe all the clothes Excella has bought for her—and with barely any prompting. Sherry held up the strapless black silk gown she'd picked out for the party and grinned. Maybe having Excella around wouldn't be so bad after all. Maybe.

The guests were arriving. Sherry could hear boisterous voices echoing up from the foyer. She paused to open her laptop and check her email. A message from Ted was waiting.

_Everything arranged. Meet at my place, Friday, 7am sharp._

Sherry typed a quick reply. _I'll be there. Can't wait!_

She put on the dress, pulled her long hair back into a tight bun and slipped into the new blue pumps she'd picked out earlier that day. Sherry stared down at the locket sitting on her dressing table. She'd let it stay there for the night.

* * *

Sherry counted about fifteen people in the study. Not a huge number, but the room felt transformed by the group's energy. Wesker and Excella were standing away from everyone else, deep in conversation. Sherry tried not to be surprised by this, tried not to stare at Excella's short, pink confection of a dress. She tried not to look at the empty champagne glass in Excella's hand or the way her black hair cascaded down her back like a satin curtain.

Instead, Sherry took a deep breath, fixed a pleasant smile on her face and headed over to the closest knot of people.

"Good evening!" she said brightly. Heads turned to look at her.

Suddenly Wesker was by her side. "Everyone, this is my daughter Sherry."

Sherry was momentarily taken aback. Wesker wasn't wearing his sunglasses. But then she realized his unnatural red irises were hidden behind brown-tinted contacts. Clearly Tricell's leadership didn't know the whole truth about their new business partner, and Wesker wanted to keep it that way.

People immediately began plying Sherry with polite questions. Did she enjoy living in London? Which university would she be attending in the autumn?

"I'm taking my gap year now. But I'm deciding between the University of Edinburgh and St. Andrew's for next year." The lie sounded even more convincing than it had that morning.

"God, I remember those days," one older executive said wistfully. "It feels so long ago. My wife and I just celebrated our 40th wedding anniversary."

Sherry noticed Excella out of the corner of her eye, grabbing another glass of champagne with a look of contempt on her face.

_Can't stand not being the center of attention, huh? Watch this, bitch._

"Oh really? How wonderful!" Sherry crossed to the piano and sat down at its bench. "If your wife were here, I'd play this for you both. But tonight it's _just_ for you," she said with a wink.

The guests pressed in around her, curious and excited. Sherry closed her eyes and blocked them all out. Her fingers found the cords she needed and she began to play; the lyrics came almost of their own accord.

_Wise men say only fools rush in..._

Nothing else existed in that moment—not her frustrations, not her worries. There was only her and the piano.

_Shall I stay? Would it be a sin?_

The song flowed out of her. Sherry let her voice soar, holding nothing back.

_So take my hand and take my whole life too..._

As Sherry neared the end of the song, she glanced up and immediately met Wesker's gaze on the other side of the room. She had never seen that look on his face before.

Sadness.

He looked away. The strange sensation that had seized Sherry during her birthday dinner crashed in again like a wave. It was agonizing. There was nothing to do with it but let it out. Sherry tilted her head back and let the feeling carry her voice upward to the song's crescendo, where it broke over the room.

_'Cause I can't help falling in love—in love with you._

Her voice now spiraled gently down until she brought the song to a rest on the final chord. The room exploded in applause. Sherry looked up at the smiling faces around her and smiled back, then started to giggle with relief. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Excella scowl and down her glass in one gulp.

* * *

The guests were leaving, bundling themselves into sleek sedans that would carry them back to their hotels. Sherry was tried but she felt satisfied. She'd proven herself tonight—proven that she wasn't just some scared little girl any more. The executives she'd charmed all evening now shook her hand and some even hugged her goodbye.

"Who knew Mr. Wesker had such a lovely daughter? Don't hide your light under a bushel, child!"

The townhouse grew quiet except for Excella's boisterous voice coming from the formal living room. The Italian woman had had far too much to drink.

Sherry didn't feel like going upstairs yet, so she drifted back into the study, back to her piano. She kicked off her heels and undid her hair so it fell in loose waves over her shoulders.

She absently played the first movement of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata until she heard Wesker's voice in the empty foyer.

"That's enough. Off to bed with you."

"Can I sleep in your room?" Excella slurred. More of her grating cackle. Sherry sat stock still and listened.

"No, your room is on the third floor." Wesker sounded annoyed.

"Oh all right, Albert. But you'll have to carry me!"

"I think you can make it on your own...come along..."

Their voices receded. He was actually going upstairs with her.

Sherry tried to force her hands to stop shaking. A pianist's hands did not shake. The Moonlight Sonata. Yes, she had to play it, to calm herself down if nothing else.

Just then, Sherry heard Excella's braying laughter echo down the stairs. She slammed the key cover down, buried her face in her hands and let out a stream of heaving sobs.

Minutes past. Sherry didn't feel much better, but at least she'd cried out the worst of her frustration. She sat up to reach for the box of tissues she knew was sitting on top of the piano.

"You were incredible tonight." Wesker had entered the room without a sound. He was standing right behind her.

"Thanks." Sherry swiveled her head slightly to acknowledge him but remained seated. "I just wanted to make it up to you...after the way I've acted this week..." She trailed off. Her throat was a bit hoarse from crying.

"I know. I appreciate it." Wesker's voice was low, almost gentle. "Excella and I will leave first thing in the morning," he said, then paused. "I wish I didn't need her support. She was a complete disappointment tonight," he admitted. "All that planning for the reception and she unravels after a few glasses of champagne. _You_ , on the other hand—I still don't think you realize your own potential."

Sherry sighed at this, emotions twisting and competing inside of her. She said nothing and instead grabbed a tissue and began wiping her face.

Wesker drew in a long breath. "And if it's what you really want, when I return, we'll talk about college."

"Do you mean it?" In one ecstatic motion, Sherry leapt up, sidestepped the piano bench and threw her arms around Wesker's shoulders. "Oh thank you! Thank you!"

She felt herself close to crying again and she buried her face in the older man's collar. But Sherry didn't cry. Because she felt Wesker's hand begin to press against her back, tentatively returning her embrace.

They were standing chest to chest, neither of them pulling away. Sherry's forehead rested against the side of Wesker's neck so she couldn't see his face, but she felt his breathing suddenly become shallow. He wasn't cold at all. Why had she always expected him to feel cold?

Sherry felt his hand slide down the back of her silk dress to the base of her spine. She sensed excitement, maybe even panic—feelings she'd never thought him capable of. And he did not let go of her.

Parts of her body that Sherry had always ignored because they could not help her jog, study or play piano were suddenly screaming at her, making a nameless demand. Slowly, she lifted her head and unwound her right arm from Wesker's shoulder. With the pads of her fingers, she touched his jaw and slowly guided his face closer to hers. He did not resist.

What was happening? Why wasn't she pulling away? Why wasn't _he_ pulling away? Sherry felt like she was watching someone else go through these alien movements.

Their mouths met. The rest of the world ceased to exist. She felt his embrace tighten, felt herself yielding...

Sherry was shoved away with such sudden force that she nearly fell over backwards. She gasped but quickly regained her balance. When she looked up, Wesker was somehow a few feet away and doubled over as if he was in pain.

She heard her own breath coming in ragged gasps. Her whole body felt hot, like she was standing too close to a bonfire. She extended her hand, tried to speak, but Wesker righted himself and rushed past Sherry without even looking at her.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_I took the stars from my eyes  
And then I made a map  
And knew that somehow I could find my way back_

_Then I heard your heart beating  
You were in the darkness too  
So I stayed in the darkness with you_

_-"Cosmic Love," Florence + The Machine_

* * *

"Gwendolyn, have you seen my passport?" It was her biggest gamble yet, but Sherry knew the document existed. It had to.

The housekeeper peered at Sherry over the top of her Times. "Why, I saw it in your father's room jest this morning while I was doing his packing. Gone off with that Excella character, he has." She set her newspaper down on the kitchen table and looked Sherry square in the eye. "But whatever d'you need your passport for?" Gwendolyn was a stout Welshwoman in her early 60's who ran the household with an affable yet firm hand.

Sherry took a deep breath. "I'm going on a trip to Ibiza with some friends."

"Oh? Your father know about this?"

"No, he doesn't," Sherry said calmly. Because I am a perfectly normal 18-year-old and this is the sort of thing perfectly normal 18-year-olds do.

The older woman arched a graying eyebrow. "You'll be back home before him then?"

"Yes, the day before."

"Ah well, I always thought your father coddled you too much," Gwendolyn said as she heaved herself out of the chair. "It's high time you got out and saw a bit of the world, bach. You wait right here an' I'll get it."

"Really?" Sherry felt her heart skip a beat. "Gwendolyn, I owe you one. I'll make sure you don't get in trouble for this, I promise!"

"No trouble at all," she said, waving Sherry off. "As my own father used to say, 'tis easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission."

* * *

Sherry was positively giddy as she packed the summer clothes Excella bought for her. Time passed in a blur. It was morning again. She was out the door, meeting and hugging everyone in front of Ted's house, waiting in traffic, waiting in a security line. She handed over her passport and boarding pass, and they were handed back without so much as a sideways glance.

Her little group slouched in the boarding area's uncomfortable pleather chairs. Amelia applied a fresh coat of lipgloss and told Sherry about the clubs they'd be visiting. Ted's friend Steve lent her a sympathetic ear while Sherry complained about her dad's bitchy new girlfriend. Amelia's friends Rachelle and Lily wandered off in search of magazines while Ted sat a few feet away, deep in conversation with two middle-aged businessmen.

One was a tall, barrel-chested American with receding red hair and a bushy mustache while the other, an Asian man with glasses and a friendly smile, nodded politely as Ted prattled on about something. The gate agent's voice came over the intercom and it was time to board.

It was a long flight, but Sherry didn't mind. She stared out the plane's tiny window at the blinding white clouds below.

"Exciting, isn't it?" Ted asked.

"Absobloodylutely." Sherry shot him a wicked smile. "But I think I'll take a nap before we land." She folded a flimsy airline blanket into a makeshift pillow and let her head rest against the plane's bulkhead. And for the first time since it happened, Sherry let her mind wander back to the warmth of his body, the feeling of his mouth against hers...This man who was old enough to be her father.

How on earth would she ever look Wesker in the eye again?

* * *

Amelia was a beautiful mixed-race girl of 17. Her English father was the hereditary lord of something-on-someplace with the ancient manor house to prove it and her mother was originally from Mumbai. Sherry loved the honeyed timbre of her friend's voice. An English lilt had winnowed into Sherry's speech over the years, but she would never sound half as posh as Amelia.

"What flavor do you want tonight, love?" Amelia asked, batting her mile-long eyelashes. "Spanish? Russian? Or maybe we'll find you a nice American bloke."

Sherry laughed. "No, no, I'm just here to relax."

The two young women walked arm-in-arm through a crowded, neon-lit street in Sant Antoni's West End. Music throbbed in the air around them. Ted and rest of the group flitted in and out of Sherry's peripheral vision, all smiles and chatter.

But Amelia wasn't going to be brushed off that easily. "Boys can be very relaxing," she went on. "Or...wait." Amelia slowed her pace and looked Sherry straight in the eye. Her voice dropped to an excited whisper. "You're still a virgin, aren't you?"

"I need a drink," Sherry hissed as she let go of her friend's arm.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'!" Amelia called after her.

They found a karaoke bar and Sherry was pushed up on stage. With a White Russian cocktail in one hand, she sang a perfect rendition of "Walking on Broken Glass" in front of the stunned room. By the end of the song, everyone in the bar was on their feet, clapping with the beat and singing along.

"Nobody told me you could do that!" Rachelle exclaimed as Sherry rejoined the group.

The night became a journey, from street to street, club to club. People kept handing Sherry drinks and soon the world was a pleasant, colorful blur. Somehow, they ended up on the other side of the island. Sherry and her friends sat on the beach at Platja d'en Bossa, watching the eastern sky turn pearly gray with the dawn.

* * *

"This. Is. Brilliant." Amelia swirled her hand at Sherry and the pink knee-length satan caftan she'd just put on.

"This _week_ is brilliant," Sherry said as she slid her feet into gold-colored sandals.

"And it's only going to get better," Lily interjected. "You'll never want to go back to foggy old London."

After napping most of the day, they were going to spend Saturday night at Privilege—"the most famous dance club in the world," Amelia kept reminding everyone.

The girls grabbed their purses and assessed their hair and makeup one last time in the bathroom mirror before meeting Steve and Ted in the hotel hallway. Sherry fell to the back of the group as they left the lobby. She watched her friends spill into the street, already jittery with the anticipation of another long night.

Lily was right—Sherry didn't want to go back. Oh yes, she would return to London when the week was over, but not to the sheltered exile she'd known before. Her little world had been upturned by the feeling of a strong hand on the small of her back. The very thought of Wesker hurt. She wanted...

Sherry didn't know what she wanted. Maybe it was just time to move on.

She paused in the street with a narrow alleyway to her back. Her friends walked on ahead, oblivious that she was not with them. But it was alright—Sherry watched them admiringly from the growing distance, knowing she could catch up. Tonight, everything was possible. She would go to college. She would leave the past behind once and for all and have a normal life.

Sherry gazed up at the darkened sky and gasped as a massive blow to the back of her head suddenly blotted it all out.

* * *

It felt like her brain was splitting in two. Sherry opened her eyes and immediately started hyperventilating, trying to take in her new surroundings. She was slumped against a wall in what looked to be a cheap hotel room. Her ankles were tied with thick, itchy twine and her wrists were bound behind her too. A bandana tightly gaged her mouth but she tried to scream anyway.

"She's awake."

A single lamp lit the dingy room. Two figures approached from the other side of the room. The businessmen from the airport. The Chinese man with the wireframe glasses knelt in front of her.

"If you don't scream, I'll take the gag off and we'll explain ourselves." He spoke with the barest hint of an accent. "We're not going to hurt you. Promise not to scream?" His voice was surprisingly gentle.

Sherry nodded vigorously, pleading with her eyes.

"Lee, don't do it..." The big redheaded man stood over both of them. Ignoring his companion, Lee reached behind Sherry's head and untied the bandana.

Sherry gasped loudly but didn't cry out. "This is a terrible misunderstanding," she blurted, her eyes darting desperately around the room. "You have to let me go."

"No such luck, Ms. Birkin," the redheaded man said with a chuckle.

"What? You've got the wrong person. Just let me go and I won't go to the police."

"We used to work with your parents," the man called Lee said. He gestured to Sherry's locket. "We saw the photo."

She looked down and saw that the lid's clasp was unfastened. She felt the blood drain from her face. Sherry looked up at both men for what seemed like an eternity. There was no use pretending. But surely Ted and the others knew she was missing by now. Maybe the local police were already looking for her. She glanced around the room looking for her purse but didn't see it.

"What do you want?" She finally asked.

The large redheaded man took a seat in a rickety-looking chair next to a small desk. Lee, the Chinese man, rocked back on his heels but did not take his eyes off of Sherry.

"I am Dr. Lee Zhang," he said. "This is my colleague Dr. Franklin Tompkins."

"Just Frank is fine," the larger man interjected. As if it mattered.

"We were researchers at Umbrella's main Raccoon City facility," Lee continued. "We worked along side your parents for five years. You were just a little girl then—you wouldn't remember us. We were both transferred to Umbrella's Chicago lab a year before the mansion incident. That is why we survived."

"The _what_ incident?" Sherry could not control the contempt that was rising in her voice. "Oh yeah. That."

"Hmmm," Frank rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Now isn't that interesting..."

Lee ignored him and went on. "Frank and I went on the run after Raccoon City. The government was questioning every Umbrella employee they could get their hands on, so we really had no choice."

_Yes, keep them talking. Buy time._

"So want do you do now?"

"We're lab coats for hire," Frank said blithely. "You'd be surprised how many people are willing to pay us for just a little piece of what Umbrella had. But that causes problems of its own."

"We're wanted men," Lee interjected. Sherry heard real sadness in his voice.

"'Crimes against humanity'—hrmmph! Bunch of ingrates." Frank stood again and thumped the table with his open palm. "And we'd still be running if Lee hadn't grabbed my arm back at the gate in Heathrow and said, 'Good God, I just saw the ghost of Annette Birkin!'" He laughed. "So I walk up to your idiot friend and he just starts gabbing. He even told us the name of your hotel!"

_Ted, you sweet, stupid boy...But how could you have known?_

"Enough about us." Lee made an attempt at a smile. "What on earth are you doing here?"

Sherry just stared at him and shrugged.

"Well, I know where you're supposed to be, and it's _not_ here," Frank sneered. "You're supposed to be in U.S. Government custody, stashed away in some Area 51 hidey-hole. That's what everyone said after Raccoon City. Who got you out of the country?"

"Does it really matter?" she sighed. Sherry was sore all over. Her head still throbbed from were one of the men had knocked her out.

Lee suddenly stood up and turned toward his colleague. "Franklin, this is the new beginning we've all been waiting for. People need to be informed about this."

"And who the hell should we call first?" Frank's voice rose. "Spencer? No one know if he's dead or alive. And now Sergei Vladimir's dead, too. So who's going to lead this little revival? You and me? Who's going to listen to two junior researchers turned freelance bio-terrorists?"

"We could try..." Lee spluttered. "You know the rumors that Wesker is still alive. Maybe he can—"

"That traitor?" Frank exploded, making Sherry jump a little. "He's six years in the ground and we both know it! I've had enough of rumors!" Frank stomped over to Sherry and pointed at her, but never took his eyes off Lee. "She is U.S. Government property. We return her to ol' Uncle Sam and we can name our price. A pardon, immunity. Don't you get it? We can finally go home!"

Lee stared silently at his companion. When he finally spoke, his voice was terse.

"You would sell out the Red Princess, just like that?"

"Oh for fuck's sake, Lee!" Frank threw up his hands and started pacing around the room. "I've humored this little theory of yours long enough. Here's your Red Princess in the flesh. Look at her. She's a kid, not a savior!"

Sherry had been watching this exchange with growing panic. They were talking about her, obviously, but it didn't matter to her now.

_I have to get out of this room!_

Lee sighed and walked over to the window. "Let's compromise," he said as he drew back the curtain. It was still nighttime. "We'll take her back to their mainland and put the theory to the test. And for the record, it's not my theory. I'm not the only one who believes she's—" He gasped and stepped back from the window.

"What? What's wrong?" Frank stopped pacing and froze in place.

"In the street...I thought I saw a ghost." Lee walked swiftly toward the room's shabby bed and grabbed the travel bag sitting on it. "We need to move. Now."

"Shit." Frank grabbed his own bag from the floor, slung it over his shoulder and snagged an object that was sitting on the desk. Sherry saw it in his hand as he advanced on her. A syringe. "We need to tranquilize her."

"No!" Sherry cried out. "You'll cover more ground if you don't have to carry me! Untie my legs. Please!"

"Okay, okay..." Lee was focused but very, very frightened. He kelt down again and produced a folding knife from his pocket. A few frenzied moments of sawing and the twine around Sherry's ankles snapped. Then Frank was at her side, dragging Sherry to her feet.

"Ahhh! Stop, dammit!" She was stiff from sitting in one position for so long and could barely move. But Frank wrapped one meaty hand around Sherry's upper arm and yanked her along. Her shoulders screamed in protest. Lee opened the hotel room's door and they tumbled into the narrow hallway.

"Stairs," Frank gasped. They ran to the end of the hall and barreled through the door that lead into a concrete stairwell. Sherry glanced over the railing and saw that they were several stories up.

"Wait! I'll go first," Lee rasped. He ventured down about a flight while Frank and Sherry waited on the landing. Frank was breathing hard and sweating but his grip on Sherry's arm was still tight. She didn't dare struggle—not yet.

Suddenly, there was a sound at the bottom of the stairwell. Footsteps? No, not quite. There was a rushing sound, like the wind.

Lee stopped in his tracks. "Up! Go up!" He gestured wildly at them and began hauling himself back up the stairs.

"No! I'm not going anywhere!" Sherry yelled.

Frank tried to yank Sherry around, but Lee had nearly reached the landing where they were standing.

With one swift movement, Sherry kicked out hard with her right leg and hit Lee square in the chest. He let out a shout and tumbled backwards. Sherry heard his head hit the stair with a sickening crack.

Everything was happening too fast.

"You bitch! You little bitch!" Frank engulfed her in a bear hug, but Sherry was fighting him now, thrashing around with all her strength. "Now you're really going to get it!" he screamed in her ear. Sherry cried out in pain as Frank rammed the syringe into her shoulder.

Frank spun her around and threw her down hard onto the concrete landing. Her limbs were already going numb. She could feel consciousness slipping away.

But just before Sherry blacked out, she heard Frank start to scream. Then stop.

* * *

_My pillowcases aren't gray._

Sherry lifted her head slightly as her eyes adjusted to the low light and brought the room into focus. She smoothed her hand over the slate-colored sheets of the unfamiliar bed she lay in. Slowly, she sat up and threw her legs over the side. Sherry was still wearing her pink caftan dress, but it was now wrinkled and dirty. Every limb ached. Even her hair seemed to hurt.

She was in a large bedroom with sterling gray walls and Bordeaux red carpeting. The wall nearest to the bed had floor-to-ceiling French windows, not unlike her own bedroom, but most of the natural light was blocked by red velvet drapes. She took in the dark wood furniture, the ornate chandelier and finally the man sitting at a small table on the right side of the bed.

"Why am I in your room?" Sherry asked.

"So I can keep a goddamn eye on you," Wesker growled. His eyes pulsated like two fresh wounds under his brow. Sherry was surprised to see that he was a bit disheveled too. His black pants looked wrinkled and the collar of his white button-down shirt was undone. His blond hair, which was usually neatly combed back, fell in his face and Sherry realized for the first time just how long it really was.

"Please don't sack Gwendolyn," Sherry blurted out. "This wasn't her fault."

"Oh she's not going anywhere." Wesker was immediately back to his usual assured self, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers. "Good help really is hard to find, you know. She feels terrible about this and that's punishment enough."

"I want to see her."

Wesker shook his head. "I gave her and the rest of the staff the week off so you can recover in peace."

Sherry felt a lump in her throat. Alone in the house. Together. She stared down at her lap and absently played with the hem of her ruined dress.

"What happened?" she asked softly.

"I've pieced together a rough timeline. After your little friends found your purse in the street, they called Gwendolyn on your cell phone. She got in touch with me. It wasn't easy to charter a flight at that hour, otherwise I would've been there sooner."

"What do you mean 'sooner'?" Sherry looked around for a clock. "Wait, what day is it?"

"Ten o'clock on Monday morning, if you must know." Wesker twisted around in his chair to part the drape behind him. A beam of bright sunlight came streaming into the dim room, but he let the curtain fall back into place just as quickly as he'd lifted it. "It was nearly dawn on Sunday when I got to you," he continued. "They hadn't taken you off the island, by the way."

Sherry looked up at him. "What happened to them?" She couldn't bring herself to say Lee and Frank's names.

"They're disposed of. Zhang died instantly from a broken neck. Tompkins died...almost instantly." Wesker's customary half-smile spread across his face.

Sherry was suddenly back in Franks' brutal grasp. In her mind's eye, she saw Lee tumble backwards from her kick, heard the horrid snap as he hit the stair. She hugged herself and stifled a rising sob.

"I killed a man."

"In self defense," Wesker said matter-of-factly.

"But how did you find me?" Sherry asked, desperate to change the subject.

"I put a tracking device in your locket a long time ago, in a hidden compartment in the back."

"What?" She grasped at the gold pendant around her neck. "I never knew..."

Wesker smirked at her surprise. "You should be grateful. Your father had the foresight to have that compartment installed when he commissioned the locket for you. It saved your life yesterday."

"And what else did my dad have the _foresight_ to do for me?" she hissed.

Sherry stood up and immediately regretted it. Pain charged down her left leg. The room began to spin. Her hand shot backwards to steady herself on the bed's edge, but she was already crumpling to the floor. And then Wesker was there, catching her and lifting her like she didn't weigh a thing.

"You're dehydrated," Wesker murmured as he bent over her. He tried to lay Sherry back on the bed but she immediately forced herself to sit up, steadying herself with one hand on his shoulder. She pulled up the hem of her dress and saw a massive dark bruise on her left thigh from where Frank had thrown her on the concrete landing. Sherry let out a low groan of dismay.

Wesker stood up. "Rest. I'll get you some water."

"And food. Breakfast stuff," she added.

"Of course."

"The Red Princess," Sherry called after him as he opened the bedroom door. "That's what they called me. Why?"

* * *

Sherry was pretty sure the granola cereal was the best thing she'd ever tasted. She felt much better after taking a hot shower and washing the grime of the night out of her hair. Her injured leg wasn't on board with putting on pants, so she put on her favorite plush bathrobe, tying the sash tightly around her waist.

Wesker folded his arms and drew in an audible breath. "I believe I owe you an apology."

They were back in his room now, sitting at the small table by the window.

She set her bowl down. "I'm listening."

"I always assumed the greatest threat to your safety came from the United States Government, not from the remnants of Umbrella. It seems I was wrong." Wesker's gaze now fell to the table. It wasn't easy for a man like him to admit he was wrong. But there was something else—a heaviness in his face, his eyes. Sherry felt her face flush. _Please God, not now..._

"Also, I pushed you too hard last week," he went on. "I understand why you felt the need to get away..." He trailed off, abruptly stood up and began to pace the room.

"Hey!" Sherry whipped around in her chair and shouted at Wesker's back. "This Red Princess thing. You _need_ to tell me, Al. I have a right to know."

"Yes, of course." He clasped his hands behind his back and turned toward Sherry but did not look her in the eye. "There is a theory among a small number of former Umbrella employees," Wesker began carefully. "As far as I know, no one of influence takes it seriously. Besides, everyone believes you're in government custody and therefore untouchable. That's why I never saw it as a serious threat."

"And?" Sherry prodded anxiously.

"The idea is your immunity to the G virus makes you the perfect test subject for the next generation of viral research," he said.

"Test subject..." she echoed. Sherry felt numb. If Wesker hadn't rescued her in time...

She pictured a dark, sterile laboratory with strange machines and sharp scalpels teasing her skin open inch by inch. Yes, that was what they'd intended to do to her.

"But it's bigger than that." Wesker sat down again and Sherry saw the lines of exhaustion on his face. "Umbrella was shattered after Raccoon City. It will take a significant catalyst to unify what's left. People require more than a research breakthrough, more than a leader."

"They want a savior," Sherry breathed, remembering what Frank had said. She realized she was white-knuckling her chair's armrests.

"That's the general idea, yes. You would be a rallying point, a symbol," Wesker said. "But nothing is set in stone. You have the power to define who the Red Princess really is. As I said the other night—"

"No." She looked up at Wesker, not caring if he could see the anger in her eyes. "Those nutcases can call me whatever they want—it's _not_ who I am!" Sherry raised her voice. "And you—you knew about this the whole time!"

"I was protecting you until you were ready to hear the truth." He'd put on his mask of patronizing detachment. Sherry knew that mask well. And she was sick of it. "Besides, the theory is wrong," Wesker went on calmly. "The G virus is too volatile to experiment with, even in a dormant carrier like yourself."

"So I'm supposed to be grateful..." Sherry's voice started to break, but she pushed on. "Because the only thing stopping you from slicing me open is a fucking technicality?"

Wesker leaned across the table. She saw his hand rise as if to touch her. "I would never—" he started.

She sprang out of her seat and wagged an accusatory finger at Wesker's face. "Don't lie to me!" she snapped. Sherry started backing away from the table, tuning out the ache in her leg. She was shouting now, letting it all out in a torrent. "You're just like them! You're after something crazy and horrible and I don't want any part of it!" She turned around and stalked toward the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" She heard Wesker rise from his chair but she didn't slow her stride.

"To my room," Sherry hissed back at him. Her hand was on the door handle now. All she had to do was turn it and walk through.

Then Wesker's hand was on her shoulder. "I am truly sorry for what happened." His voice was low now, his usual imperious tone gone. "But do you see now that you are different?"

_Walk through the door,_ she tried to will herself. _Do it._

She shifted her weight off her left leg and accidentally backed into Wesker. Or had he moved too, pressing against her on purpose? Sherry felt the slow rise and fall of his chest against her back. She was expecting the warm sensation that now flooded into her body. Sherry gritted her teeth. She would fight it this time. Her right hand stayed on the door handle.

_This is wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong! Walk through the door!_

Wesker gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. "I'm offering you knowledge and the ability to protect yourself. I'm offering you a way forward. That's what my work is about—the way forward. Just..." She heard frustration in his voice. Desperation. "You _must_ stop fighting the truth, Sherry."

She looked down at the carpet. It felt soft against her bare feet, yet it was the color of spilled blood. Wesker's words rang in her head, bouncing around and firing her heartbeat to a jackhammer's pace.

_Stop fighting the truth._

Sherry remembered the look on Excella's face as she'd lied just to see if she could get away with it. She thought of Lee's shout of surprise when her foot met his chest. Even the little machinations that had put her on the plane to Ibiza now took on a new meaning. To the rest of the world, she was just another feckless, spoiled girl. That was why her victims never saw it coming.

_My...victims?_

Her mouth went dry. "Please..." Sherry's voice was barely above a whisper. "I just want to be left in peace." It was the final plea before the executioner's blow. A formality, really; she expected no reprieve. And her body didn't want one.

"Accept who you are," Wesker said quietly. "Believe me, it is the only peace you will ever know."

Slowly, Sherry let the door handle slide from her grasp.

_Stop fighting._

She turned around and looked up into those unnatural eyes that sometimes seemed like windows into hell itself.

_Stop fighting._

Sherry untied her bathrobe's belt and shrugged the garment off her shoulders. She stopped fighting.

* * *

In her mind's eye, Sherry jogged through Hyde Park with the heat of the sun on her face and felt her father's hand mussing her hair. But it was not her father's fingers that now combed through her still-damp locks.

They did not speak. Their bodies simply collided. Clothes were pulled off in a flurry of movement and they tumbled onto the bed. She let Wesker take the lead. His hand slid across her stomach, then moved further down. Sherry writhed under his touch and moaned. She felt like she was running up a steep hill, but only seemed to gain momentum as she closed in on the looming precipice.

_The only peace you will ever know..._

Sherry cried out as she leapt over the edge into oblivion, and in that same moment, he pushed her legs apart and entered her. She gasped from the fresh rush of pain, closed her eyes and let her head fall back onto the gray pillows.

She felt Wesker's finger brush her lips and face but the respite was brief. There was an urgency in his movements. Sherry threw her arms around his shoulders and clung on tight, meeting each thrust with her raised hips. The sharp pangs in her bruised thigh and untried body only seemed to enhance their lovemaking. She could feel everything—absolutely everything.

She drew in one long breath before Wesker's body bore down on hers with a final ferocity. In that moment, Sherry looked up at his face, saw the muscles in his neck and shoulders strain, and knew that she was watching the whole of his being unravel before her eyes. She arched her back and matched the roar of his climax with a long scream that was equal parts pain and joy.

* * *

"Admit it, you're only marrying her because you got her pregnant."

William just laughed and brushed past Wesker to take the lead on the dusty trail. They were in Phoenix, Arizona for an Umbrella leadership conference. The day's sessions were over and they'd driven to the hills outside the city for an early evening hike.

"I should've figured you wouldn't understand," William called over his shoulder. "But that's how you are—you refuse to believe in something just because it's never happened to you."

They reached the top of a rocky outcropping and paused to take in the view. The Valley of the Sun spread out before them as the sky slowly became tinged with red and orange.

"It's not too late," Wesker said. "I know a very accommodating doctor back in Raccoon City. You remember, he helped me out not too long ago."

"Oh, right." William was losing interest. "What was that girl's name again?"

"It was 'I'm transferring to the Paris facility and don't call ever again,'" he said with a rueful smile.

William rolled his eyes. "When are you going to learn to stop shitting where you sleep?"

Wesker shrugged. "I'll stop if they do."

"Anyway, it's definitely too late. We've already named her: Sherry Anne, after Annette's mother who died last year. It's the beginning of the next generation."

As they descended the hill, unseen coyotes began to howl one by one, until they were surrounded by a veritable chorus. Most were off in the distance; others sounded unnervingly close.

"Man, that sound takes me back." William let out a long, satisfied sigh. "When I was a kid in Tucson, I had a few Navajo friends. They had great legends—real classic campfire stories. But there was always one story they didn't like to tell. They'd freak out if I even brought it up. Some old superstition. But of course that story was the best one."

"What was it about?"

William gazed off into the distance, a faint smile on his haggard face. "Monsters called skinwalkers—basically people who willingly give up their humanity to gain power."

* * *

_Odd,_ Wesker thought as he opened his eyes. And here he thought he couldn't dream any more. How strange for that memory to come back to him now. He turned onto his side to look at the bedside alarm clock. 4pm. Good thing he'd canceled his phone conferences for the day.

"So I'm guessing college is out of the question now," a drowsy voice beside him said. "I mean university. I mean... _whatever._ "

Sherry sat up and got out of bed—slowly this time. Wesker turned to look at her as she picked her discarded robe off the floor. It was too late for guilt, too late to imagine the horrified look on her father's face. What was done was done.

He was no stranger to unpleasant truths. Wesker could own up to the fact that he'd wanted her for a long time. There was the moment at the party when she'd started singing and the mere sound had threatening to overwhelm him. Next came the feeling of cold terror when he heard Gwendolyn's frantic voice on the phone. That was actually the moment he'd resolved to finally let this happen— _if_ he could get her back, of course. But the only thing that nagged him now was the _why_ of it.

_I don't need anyone else._ That had been Wesker's personal mantra ever since the night six years ago when he'd died and come back as something not quite human. But he'd never consider the possibility of _wanting_ someone else. He never imagined that he'd one day stop searching the girl's face for traces of his lost friend and instead see the woman emerging there, mature beyond her years and promising. So very promising. If only he could make _her_ see that...

He'd taken a gamble by giving Sherry so much independence in the first place, but he wanted to give her a chance to understand the world. Wesker was convinced that Umbrella's insular culture had been its downfall—an echo chamber where consequences were ignored until it was far too late. Things were going to be different under his watch. Much different.

"It was never the right path for you," he finally replied, letting his eyes wander over Sherry's body and she stretched and pushed her long hair out of her face.

"All right, I'm ready for whatever you want to tell me," Sherry said as she pulled her bathrobe back on. "But right now..." She plunked down on the bed and crossed her legs, sitting silently for a few moments. "I never want the be in a situation like that again," Sherry began softly. She looked up at Wesker. "I need to be stronger."

Wesker glanced up at the ceiling for a moment, then a very interesting idea came to him. _Yes, he'll do perfectly._

"That can be arranged."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 4

_And I am done with my graceless heart  
So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart  
'Cause I like to keep my issues strong  
It's always darkest before the dawn_

_-"Shake It Out," Florence + The Machine_

* * *

Jack Krauser tossed more wood on the bonfire and resettled himself on an upturned log. The sun was nearly set and the roaring fire would soon be the only source of light for miles around. He had flashlights and a camping lantern in the stone farmhouse but he rarely used them. Soldiers knew how to make do. Besides, what most people called deprivation, he thought of as a welcome respite from the din of the outside world. The only thing he missed was easy access to painkillers.

The long scar on Krauser's face ached badly tonight, drowning out the competing pang in his left arm. He could've done with some Vicodin or oxycodone—anything to take the edge off. True deliverance waited for him inside a metal attache case that was stashed in the farmhouse, but he had to hold off a while longer. Tonight he had no choice but to let the pain keep him company.

Two year ago, he'd caused a helicopter crash during a training mission to fake his own death. The plan had gone awry when shrapnel hit him square in the face, almost taking out his left eye and lips. Krauser was left with a jagged wound that ran the length of the left side of his face. But flesh had a way of knitting back together, and investigations had a tendency of being closed when bodies weren't found.

And yet he wasn't free, even then. An Asian woman with a knowing smile and a habit of wearing red seemed to appear no matter where he went. "The bitch in the red dress," Krauser had named her. He kept calling her that even after learning who she really was. But she'd guided him, intentionally or not, to the doorstep of the man he'd pinned his hopes on.

* * *

On a cold evening that past February, Krauser had stood on the other side of the street from a stately townhouse in London. He'd watched a pretty blond girl bundled up against the cold walk out the front door, then waited another hour before making his move. Krauser evaded the building's security system easily enough and casually strolled into the only occupied room at the rear of the first floor.

"You didn't set off the alarm. Impressive." At first glance, Albert Wesker could've passed for any other office worker in London's financial district. He wasn't even wearing the damn sunglasses Krauser had heard so much about. He sat on a couch reading a magazine, not even bothering to look up.

"It's not hard when you know what you're doing," Krauser replied with a shrug.

"Of course." Wesker stood then, but kept his eyes downcast. "If it's all the same to you, we need to make this short. My daughter will be back—"

"Spare me," Krauser said, cutting him off with a snarl. "I've been tracking you for two years. You can get to know a man at a distance, and that kid is _not_ your daughter. You've never even been married."

"Nevertheless, if you even think of threatening her, I'll kill you where you stand." The was no emotion in Wesker's voice; it was simply a statement of fact. Krauser watched him walk over to a large hardwood desk and pick up a thick manila folder.

"Fine, I get it—she's off-limits. I just want you to know I don't appreciate being deceived."

"Fair enough. Then there are some things you need to know." Wesker walked towards him now and extended the folder. And for the first time, Krauser saw the eyes he'd heard so much about, that he'd written off as mere rumor or exaggeration. He couldn't stop himself from flinching.

_Dear God, it's all true._

Wesker smiled. "Here's the surveillance I've been running on you for the past 12 months. That's right—I know quite a bit about you too, Jack. I was beginning to wonder if you'd finally drop in."

Krauser looked down at the folder in Wesker's hand, dumbfounded. "Why? Just... _why_?"

"It's my business to know these things," he said as Krauser finally grabbed the folder and feverishly riffled through its contents.

There were surveillance photos, excerpts from his military records, notes on his recent travels, even the names of people he'd contacted. All the tracks the thought he'd covered so well... Krauser felt himself break into a cold sweat and the old wound in his left arm began to throb.

_The bitch in the red dress._

Wesker seemed oblivious to his growing agitation. "I am flattered that you came to me first, though." He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked forward slightly, clearly pleased with himself. "You've got quite a fan club. I'm not the only one who wants to recruit you."

Krauser closed the folder and tossed it on a nearby chair. "Show me. Now."

"Sorry?" Wesker's mouth curled into an amused smile.

"I've heard some crazy stories about you. So show me what you can do. There's enough room in here."

Krauser wasn't as strong as he'd once been, but he was still big and mean. He lashed out with his good arm, aiming his right fist for the side of Wesker's head, and hit...nothing.

"Hm." The sound came from behind him. Krauser spun around but it was too late. Blow after blow reigned down. There was no time to counterattack or even block. Krauser heard a sound like a gust of wind, then he tasted blood and fell hard on the floor.

He lay there for what seemed like an eternity, trying to catch the breath that had been knocked out of him. Finally, he managed to pull himself up on one knee.

"I know what I want from you, Jack." Wesker stood over him now, fists balled at his sides. "Now tell me, what exactly do _you_ want from _me_?"

"Power," he said between gasps.

Krauser looked up into glowing red eyes and realized for the first time that his scars weren't the cost of freedom. They were the price of admission.

* * *

The moon was rising now, pale orange and hazy over fallow fields. The sound of a car engine suddenly invaded the mountain silence. Krauser watched a pair of headlights snake their way up the long gravel path to where the farmhouse sat atop a small hill.

The beaten-up car stopped and a man—a grizzled old farmer, by the looks of him—got out of the driver's seat and opened the passenger door for a young woman. She thanked him in halting French and pressed a few bills into his leathery hand. The old man pulled two duffle bags out of the back seat and nodded at Krauser before going on his way.

Krauser waited until the car was halfway down the hill before he stood and approached the girl. He was a tall man, immensely muscular, and he towered over his new charge. In the flicker of the firelight, Krauser saw she was dressed simply in jeans, a hooded sweatshirt and hiking boots. Her long, wavy hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail.

_Good, not too scrawny,_ Krauser thought. _And not a pampered pooch. Maybe._

Krauser searched her face for a hint of fear or hesitation. She looked tired from her journey, but stared steadily back. He still wondered who the hell this girl really was. And why did Wesker pretend she was his daughter?

"Teach her to fight," Wesker had instructed him. "Teach her to kill. But most of all, teach her how to survive."

Krauser suddenly recalled his second meeting with Wesker, when he'd demanded the full story behind his unnatural abilities.

"I began breaking rules and I never stopped," Wesker had said. "Do you remember that line from _Chinatow_ _n_? About how most people will never realize that at the right time and the right place, they're capable of anything?"

The memory made Krauser suppress a shudder. _This is one time I'm better off not knowing the truth_.

The young woman spoke first. "I'm Sherry, so I guess that makes you Jack."

She had a strange hybrid accent, not fully British but not American either—just like Wesker's voice, Krauser realized. They must've been living in London for quite a while.

Krauser allowed himself to smirk. "Call me whatever you want. Just make sure you listen to everything I say. It's already the middle of July. We have ten, maybe twelve weeks before I'm called away on my next mission." He turned and started walking toward the farmhouse, motioning for her to follow. "Do you know where we are?" he asked.

"The _Hautes_ - _Pyrénées_?" Sherry ventured as she picked up her duffle bags. "Maybe near the Spanish border? Sorry, I lost track after I left Tarbes."

"No, you're right. Spain's right over the mountain range. You'll see tomorrow."

Krauser had been camped out at the farmhouse for weeks now, waiting patiently for events on the other side of the mountains to come to a head. He opened the door for her and grabbed the camping lantern that was sitting just inside. He switched it on and it bathed the farmhouse's meager interior in a unnaturally bright glow. For a moment, Krauser wondered just how hideous his face looked in the lamplight. But if Sherry was repulsed, she showed no sign of it.

_Hard in some spots, still green in others_ , he mused. _This kid has seen some shit._

"You speak French," Krauser said.

"Well, _sort_ of..."

"Better than I do, anyway. There's a village about four miles down the hill. You'll go there periodically for provisions. Everything else we'll hunt or forage ourselves."

"Wow, this is serious business," Sherry muttered. There was the smallest hint of resentment in her voice.

Krauser shot forward, pushing into her personal space. "Did you think this was going to be a fucking summer camp?" he spat.

Sherry flinched, but her voice held steady. "No. Trust me, I am massively up for this."

"We'll see." Krauser turned around, gesturing to a narrow doorway on the far side of the main room. "You can sleep in here," he said, holding the lantern up to illuminate the small space while Sherry set her bags on the floor. "Cot, table, chair—more than you need, really." Krauser handed her the camping lantern and turned to leave. "Rest up. We start first thing in the morning."

* * *

"Piss it!" Sherry pulled off her amber-tinted shooting glasses and let the handgun drop to her side. It weighed more than she'd expected, and seemed to get heavier with each fresh clip.

They'd spent most of the morning in the shooting range Krauser had cobbled together in one of the farmhouse's fallow fields. He said he wanted to get a sense of her baseline skills—which, as it turned out, were less than skillful. She'd made a few good shots so far, but the paper bulls-eye targets were still too white for her liking. Her frustration grew with the morning's heat. It wasn't even noon but the sun already beat down on the hill, and the promising shade of the nearby pine forest teased Sherry from the corner of her eye. Before long, she realized her shots were just hitting the ground.

"That's enough target practice for now," Krauser said. "Not bad considering you've never held a gun before. You'll get better." Sherry turned to look at him with narrowed eyes. Coming from this scarred bear of a man, it sounded more like a threat than reassurance.

Sherry took the moment to glance around at her new surroundings. As Krauser had said, a massive range of craggy, snow-frosted mountains loomed in the distance. The sky was a perfect, vibrant blue. In a valley below the hill, a mirror-like lake reflected the sky's brilliant color. And everywhere around them, green hills rolled, interrupted only by pine trees and bright white streams rushing down from the mountaintops. Despite the heat, she was half-tempted to run through the fields singing _The Sound of Music_.

She wondered how Krauser would react to _that_.

"Does it still run?" Sherry pointed to a ramshackle truck sitting in the farmhouse's shadow. She hadn't noticed it the previous evening.

"Yeah, I got it started," he admitted.

"Brilliant! Then you can teach me how to drive?"

"I think 'drive' is a relative term around these parts. But sure, why not."

Sherry felt a sudden rush of excitement. She handed the gun back to Krauser—grip-first, just the way he'd shown her—and made a break for the farmhouse.

"I didn't mean _right now_ ," he called after her gruffly. Krauser frowned and crossed his arms as Sherry came ambling back with a sigh. "You already forgot what I said last night, huh?"

"You said to listen to everything you told me..." she said grudgingly, avoiding his gaze for the first time.

"Right," Krauser snarled. "And now I'm telling you to drop and give me 20."

* * *

Sherry knelt over the stream and contemplated carving off her hair with the combat knife that was harnessed to her shoulder. It was impossible to keep it clean with just bar soap and cistern water and her locks had quickly become matted and oily. She was grateful there wasn't a mirror in her small room. Maybe Krauser had one stashed away on his side of the farmhouse. How else did he manage to stay clean-shaven? But for her part, Sherry didn't want to know what she looked like after the most backbreaking weeks of her life.

Judging by her bronzed arms, Sherry could only assume her face was quite tan too. But it was a farmer's tan. She spent her days as Krauser's mini-me, dressed in tactical camouflage pants and a rust-colored T-shirt. Her hiking boots had acquired a permanent coating of dust. She had her own combat harness too, less laden than Krauser's, but still kitted out with all sorts of interesting gadgets. She even knew how to use some of them now. Sherry sighed and reached for her knife, then hesitated.

_This isn't permanent_ , she reminded herself. _It only_ feels _like I've been up here forever._

The first few days in the mountains had been difficult. Sherry kept imagining Gwendolyn sitting alone in the kitchen, reading the newspaper and worrying about her. She daydreamed about getting Indian takeout and watching trashy reality shows at Ted's house. But most of all, she longed for a darkened bedroom with gray walls and the weight of another body on top of hers.

Krauser wasn't exactly the funnest person in the world, either. He was a good teacher, but terminally humorless. And whenever he sensed the slightest hint of defiance in her, it was pushups, pushups, and more pushups. But at some point through the haze of exhaustion and hunger and compulsory predawn jogs and hand-to-hand combat training sessions that felt more like beatings, Sherry realized she was _learning_.

The days ran together, so she could not pinpoint the exact moment when her bullets had started finding the bulls-eye or when her desperate blocks had turned to calculated parries. But the change was happening nonetheless. She could feel her body growing tauter, leaner, more resistant to pain and discomfort. Krauser's hawk-like face was as impassive as ever, but Sherry noticed his pale blue eyes widened whenever she did something right. And that was happening more and more often now.

Alone in her room at night, Sherry surveyed the map of scrapes and bruises on her body, taking a grim tally. She'd strained muscles she didn't even know she had, bruised her ribs, nearly broken an arm taking a tumble off a boulder in the woods. And she thought she'd felt pain in Ibiza.

_If you could see me now, would you still want me?_

Then she remembered how Wesker's face looked without its mask and knew the answer was _yes_.

* * *

Sherry wound her hair into an approximation of a bun and splashed the stream's cold water on her face and forearms. She might have to sacrifice a few inches, but was sure any competent stylist could salvage the mess. Krauser was crouched a bit downstream but now he stood and pulled his beret back over his own prematurely graying hair.

"Let's get moving," he said. They were following animals through the pine forest today, with Krauser pointing out various tracks and deer paths, and had paused by the stream for a short break.

Sherry watched him begin to amble down the stony embankment. Something about him reminded her of Ada, but she couldn't quite say what. Not for the first time, Sherry wondered about the huge scar on his face. She didn't dare ask him about it directly of course, but maybe if she showed him her scars too?

_Krauser's different_ , she reasoned. _I can tell him the truth. Besides, why would Al send me here if we couldn't trust him?_

"Do you want to know who I really am?" she called after him. Krauser stopped in his tracks but didn't turn. "You've heard of Raccoon City, right?"

Now he wheeled around to face her. "Jesus Christ, you're _that_ Sherry?"

She laughed as she stood. Of _course_ he'd heard of her. Why not? Nothing surprised her after Ibiza. "I know, I'm not supposed to be here. Government custody, yada yada yada."

"You've got _that_ right," Krauser growled as he approached. "It all makes sense now. I _knew_ you weren't really Wesker's kid."

Sherry closed here eyes and lazily stretched her arms above her head. It was fun to shock people with the truth. Almost as fun as lying. "My dad invented the G virus, but you probably knew that too. Al was Dad's best friend, so he came and found me after..." Here her words being to stumble. Sherry dropped her arms and looked down at the gushing stream. "It was six years ago. So yeah, that's me," she finished quietly.

"Hmm," was all Krauser replied.

_Try again_ , Sherry told herself. She raised her head.

"So how'd you hear about me anyway?"

"That's a story for another time," he rumbled. "Or maybe never." Krauser turned to walk away but Sherry quickly fell into step with him.

"Okay, so tell me a different story. One about your scar."

He glanced sideways at her for a moment but said nothing. Sherry held her breath. Then, as they reentered the forest, Krauser began to speak in a low, even voice.

"If a person's very lucky, they find their calling in life. My calling was to be a solider. But it was taken from me when I got injured."

"Your face?"

"No, here." Krauser's huge hand squeezed his left bicep where it was covered by his shirt. "It happened because someone I trusted didn't understand a soldier's heart: his duty to the man fighting by his side. He hung me out to dry..." Krauser paused and gritted his teeth. "for the sake of a bloodied sundress."

"Must've been some dress," Sherry murmured.

Krauser went on as if he hadn't heard her. "After that, I was only good for training others. So I had to move on."

"But you're training _me_ ," Sherry interjected. "Is it really so bad?"

"This is different. It's a favor for the man who gave me back my purpose."

"Purpose..." she echoed quietly as they paused in a small clearing.

"But this," Krauser said as he locked eyes with Sherry and pointed to his face. " _This_ I did to myself."

* * *

The next day, Sherry got a late start on her walk to the village, so it was dusk when she returned. Krauser was waiting for her outside, sitting at his usual place by the fire pit.

"Put your bags down." He motioned to the ground. Sherry did as she was told and Krauser stood and tossed her a small black backpack. It clinked and clattered when she caught it.

"What's this for?"

"A pop quiz," he said gruffly. "Time to show me what you've learned." Sherry began to unzip the pack to inspect the contents, but Krauser held up his hand. "I'll give you a fifteen minute head start. Then I'm coming after you."

"I'm sorry, _what_?"

Krauser reached behind the upturned log he'd been sitting on and picked up a hunting bow and quiver full of red and white stripped arrows. "Your objective is to survive until dawn. Fifteen minutes. Better start running."

Sherry looked him in the eye for a moment, but a moment was all she needed to know that he wasn't joking. She slung the pack onto her back, turned on her heel and began sprinting toward the treeline.

* * *

_Don't stop._

Wesker presented her with a new laptop computer that only had one program. "Red Princess, meet the Red Queen."

It was all of Umbrella's history, edited and compressed into a neat narrative. She'd spent the remainder of June immersed in it. It was an alien world, her parents' world, with a twisted logic all its own. Sometimes the things Sherry read sickened her and she had to go for a long run to clear her head. But there were no tears—for herself or any of the people she read about.

_Don't stop._

Wesker motioned to the paintings behind his desk. "You belong up there next to them. But there's still much for you to learn."

_Don't stop._

"You manipulated her. Gwendolyn too. And I imagine you enjoyed it."

"I only did what you told me to do," Sherry remembered shooting back. "You said you needed Excella on your side, so I gave her a couple more reasons to follow you around like a lovesick puppy. You're welcome, by the way."

_Don't stop._

After the kidnapping, Wesker didn't return to Zurich. But Sherry knew it was borrowed time—they'd have to go their separate ways soon enough. During the day, their lives went on much as they had before. Sometimes they argued, sometimes they did not even speak for hours on end. Whether that was for the staff's benefit or their own, she wasn't sure. But as soon as they were alone at night, they fell on each other. Sherry loved the feeling of being broken in, of converting pain into something else entirely. She quickly learned to relish the shudder of his release as much as her own. Then the unnamable force within her was satisfied—until the next night, anyway.

Sherry was surprised to find their age difference didn't bother her much after all. She hid her birth control pills in her nightstand drawer, hoping Gwendolyn wouldn't find them. And she was careful to always return to her own bed before sunrise.

_Don't stop._

"I just don't understand why they kidnapped _you_." Amelia meant well. Sherry knew that. But the insensitive words still stung.

" _Amelia!_ " Ted had been so angry. "This isn't about you, all right? Sherry could've _died_."

Amelia, Ted and the others had come to visit a few days after her rescue. She sat cross-legged on a couch in the formal living room with everyone clustered around her. The mood was tense and uncomfortable. Everything was so different now, but Sherry couldn't even tell them why. Gwendolyn brought in a tea tray but no one was very thirsty.

"I'm spending the rest of summer with my uncle in France," she'd told them. "He has a farmhouse in the countryside. I just want peace and quiet for a while."

Wesker appeared in the doorway. "That's enough. She needs her rest."

Sherry hugged everyone in turn, but she was just going through the motions. Ted kissed her forehead. His mouth quavered as if to say something, but then he turned away too. And Sherry let him go. She let them all go.

_Stop and you'll die._

She and Wesker never actually discussed what was happening between them. It felt better that way—more true to themselves and the secretive life they were used to. Besides, the moments where she saw his face unarmored told her all she needed to know. But one night, a long phone call with Excella cut into their time together. Already a little cranky from the day's long portrait sitting, Sherry was reading in bed with the Red Queen laptop with Wesker finally came in.

"Excella's becoming impatient," he said as he stretched out next to her and tucked his hands behind his head. "I may have to leave sooner than planned."

Sherry had known this moment would come, but she still had to stop herself from blurting out the first petty thing that came to mind. Then she reconsidered and said it anyway. "Right, because a month is definitely enough time to get over your daughter nearly being murdered. And here I thought she liked me."

"Oh she _does_." Wesker shot her an insolent grin and reached over to close the laptop. "She just likes me more."

She folded her arms and glared at Wesker for a moment. God but he did know how to get under her skin. "Fine, I deserved that. But just promise me you'll never touch her."

He laughed and sat up. "I'll make all the promises you like. But how do you plan on extracting the same promise from her?"

Sherry just started at him, utterly speechless. She felt numb all over. "If she made a pass, you'd do it?" she finally managed, feeling her face contort into a snarl. "You _would_?"

"My dear, I must stay on Excella's good side. If I had no other choice—"

"Funny, I think I'm getting a headache." Sherry plunked the computer on the bedside table and started to get up, but Wesker caught her forearm and held on just hard enough to pinch. She tried to wrench herself free, but his other hand grabbed her waist and pulled her back down onto the mattress. Then all at once he was on top of her, pinning her arms above her head.

"You absolute fucking _git_!" Sherry shouted, more out of surprise than anger. "So nothing's changed—" He silenced her with a rough kiss. She didn't tell her mouth to open under his, but it did all the same. After a long moment, Wesker lifted his head, looking down at her with eyes that all but glowed in the dim lamplight.

"I never said I _would_ ," he said. "Only that a situation may occur where I _have_ to. And I don't relish the idea any more than you do."

"Promise me _,_ " Sherry said again, her voice becoming breathy as Wesker let go of her wrists and reached up to turn off the bedside lamp. Almost of their own accord, her hands shot down to his waist, grabbed the edge of his undershirt and yanked it up over his back.

He chuckled softly. "Very well, you have my word. I won't lay a finger on her. _You_ , on the other hand..."

Sherry sat up just enough to pull off her camisole and toss it on the floor. Soon her shorts ended up there too. She let out a guttural moan as their bodies began to move as one. But the ache of jealously in Sherry's chest refused to die down.

"I want her dead," she suddenly gasped out to the dark. Not _I want her out of our lives_. Not _I never want to see her again_. Just. Plain. Dead.

" _Patience_." Wesker's voice was a strained whisper in her ear. "The future is full of possibilities."

* * *

_This is just a test...just as test..._

Sherry yanked herself back into the moment. She fell to her knees behind a tall boulder and threw the backpack to the ground. The moon hadn't risen yet and the pine forest was blanketed in near-pitch darkness. Sherry pulled out her Mini Maglite flashlight, turned it on and clenched it between her teeth to free up her hands.

Whenever she went to the village, Sherry wore the jeans and dark blue hoodie she'd arrived at the farmhouse in. And she always kept the Maglite and a small canister of pepper spray in the hoodie's pockets. Wesker gave them to her before she left London. With any luck, Krauser didn't even know about them.

She wasted precious seconds staring at her dirty, chapped palms in the Maglite's wavering beam. Were these really the same hands that knew how to play Debussy and Chopin? The same hands that just a few days ago had snapped a wild rabbit's neck for her dinner?

_Can they do both?_

Time had ceased to pass the moment she'd started sprinting. The fifteen minute buffer was probably long gone. She hurriedly dumped the pack's contents on the mossy ground. Sherry's heart leapt. There was a folded-up map, a compass, a digital wristwatch, a larger flashlight, a canteen of water and a silver-colored survival blanket tucked inside a carrying pouch.

_He doesn't_ really _want me to die out here. Maybe I can just hunker down..._

But the backpack contained no weapons, not even a knife. Sherry picked up the neatly-folded survival blanket and swallowed hard as the realization struck her. _It's a trick._ The sky was clear and Sherry was almost certain it would be a full moon. And the silvery blanket would be easy to spot.

A harvest moon. A hunting moon.

She hurriedly stuffed all the items back into the pack. Then she was running again, casting fevered glances at the trees overhead, desperately raking her surroundings for a familiar clearing, a stream—anything she might recognize. But there was nothing but a menacing tangle of shadows.

The world around her was utterly silent. Then Sherry noticed the only thing making noise was _her_. She was panting loudly for breath and the backpack's contents clanged together as she ran. And she'd probably torn a traceable path through the underbrush to boot. _Might as well have tied a bloody bell around my neck._

Sherry stopped, dropped the pack on the ground and flattened her back against the widest tree she could squeezed her eyes shut and forced her breathing to slow was always the part in action films where the hero told themselves to remember their training. Or was this a horror movie, the kind where the girl runs into the woods with the killer on her heels?

_Can it be both?_

She slid down to her knees again, but slowly this time. Silently. The map, compass and watch went into her jeans pockets. She downed the canteen and put it back in the bag, then stuffed the pack under a nearby bush. _He wanted it to slow me down._ Sherry groped the sides of her hoodie to make sure the Maglite and pepper spray were still there before she stalked over to the next tree, then the next one and the next one.

The moon was up now, just peeking over the tops of the trees. It would be a chilly night, and for a moment she regretted ditching the survival blanket. _No, I'll be fine if I keep moving._

It was the end of September by Sherry's best guess. There were no calendars in the farmhouse that she knew of. She took a moment to check the wristwatch, but it only showed the time, not the date. It wasn't quite 9pm. The whole night was still ahead of her.

Sherry let her head roll back as she took in the sounds of the pine forest around her. She could hear them now that her own body was quiet. The slightest breeze rustled the trees. There were the skittering sounds of nocturnal animals in the underbrush. Somewhere an owl hooted. But if Krauser was out there too, would she even hear him coming? She needed to find higher ground—try to get her bearings. Sherry saw an upward slope not far off and moved toward it.

It was a tall hill but she still scaled a tree to get a better view. The moon reflected off the snowy peaks in the distance. Sherry recognized the border mountains and could make out the flat expanse of the lake at the base of the valley. She could find her way back easily, maybe even without the map. She stayed up in the tree for a few minutes, drinking in the stars overhead.

_How crazy is this? I'm sitting in a bloody tree in the middle of the French Pyrenees running from a man who may or may not be trying to kill me._ No, not crazy. Incredible. Her body was growing stronger by the day. It had carried her this far tonight without even a second thought. Sherry's mind raced with strange new knowledge. All the things Krauser had shown her were interweaving with the Red Queen's teachings, building something new within her.

A sudden surge of confidence buoyed her as Sherry picked her way down the tree. Maybe Krauser wasn't even following her. Maybe he was still sitting by the fire having a good laugh at her expense.

An open meadow crowned the hill, but Sherry stayed hidden in the trees by the clearing's edge. She reached for the compass in her back pocket. And that was when it happened. The watch in her other pocket beeped. Then beeped again. And again.

_Good God, he set an alarm on it._

Sherry pulled out the watch and mashed the buttons on its sides, desperately trying to silence the shrill beeping that seemed to amplify and echo in the night's stillness. She finally hit the right button and the alarm stopped.

There was a whistling sound and a dull _thunk_ next to her. Sherry spun around to see a striped arrow sticking out of a tree trunk not five feet away. It had come from the direction of the meadow. Suppressing a gasp, Sherry forced herself to turn and look into the clearing. An impossibly tall shadow loomed there, less the ten yards away.

It looked like...

She was suddenly in Raccoon City again, lost, cold, tired, dirty, alone, afraid. And hunted. The adrenaline rush hit her and Sherry bolted blindly into the trees. She was descending the hill now, but loose stones and exposed roots made her stumble more than once. Sherry's breath quickly turned into sobbing gasps. The sound was so tiny, so weak. And she hated herself for it.

It was not her father standing in the clearing. That was impossible. But all the same, Sherry's mind saw the hulking, twisted creature that had followed her through the dying city.

She was on the edge of a glen now. A narrow stream trickled along it, bright silver in the strong moonlight. Sherry's hand found a rocky surface and she sank down behind a large boulder.

_I'm going to die here._

She thought of her locket packed away in one of her duffle bags back in the farmhouse. How nice it would've been to hold it one last time. And there was her unfinished portrait sitting in the painter's cozy studio, a world and a lifetime away. He'd promised to complete it in her absence with photo references. She imagined it hanging behind Wesker's desk with the three other paintings. Would he look up at it sadly as Krauser told him the truth about her?

_I'm sorry, but she just wasn't strong enough._

Never strong enough. Always running away. Never able to turn and fight.

Sherry buried her face in her hands and realized she was still clutching the treacherous wristwatch. She raised her arm to toss it away in disgust, then stopped herself.

_It's_ not _Dad. It's just Jack. So what if he's trying to kill me? It's still only him._

And it hadn't really been her father that night, either. Sherry knew that now. William Birkin was already dead when the virus inhabiting his body sought her out, saddling her with its legacy. But that monster would never hunt her again.

Sherry looked down at the watch in her shaking hand. No, a pianist's hands did not shake. Neither did a soldier's hands.

_Can I be both?_

She stood up and strained her ears for any sound that did not belong to the forest. A branched snapped somewhere in the direction she'd come from. Maybe it was an animal, maybe it wasn't. Sherry clambered up a steep ridge that rose on one side of the stream's bank and began to double back, walking as quietly as she could.

It wasn't long before she spied Krauser's tall figure moving through the underbrush. He was hunched over, an arrow notched on the compound bow's string. But Sherry was above him on the ridge, well out of his line of sight.

But what was that on his face? Were those night vision goggles? Sherry felt white-hot rage boiling up inside her. _He's not even giving me a fair chance!_ She paused just long enough to fiddle with the wristwatch, then backed away from the ridge and quickly came across a dell strewn with large rocks. She dropped the watch and climbed the small hill to wait behind one of the boulders. It seemed like an eternity before the watch's alarm went off again, though Sherry knew she'd set it for only three minutes. _What if he's already out of range...?_

The little alarm beeped on and on. And then Sherry heard a rustling movement below her. She forced her mind to go still as she slowly peeked out from behind the boulder. Krauser had already walked past her and was heading straight for the spot where the watch lay bleating in the dirt.

Sherry slipped out from her hiding place and fell silently into Krauser's blind spot, creeping up behind him, until Krauser knelt to pick the watch up. Then she closed in. With a speed she hadn't known she possessed, Sherry yanked off the goggles with one hand and reached around with the other to pepper spray him point-blank in the face.

An inhuman scream rent the night, and Sherry instantly knew she'd remember the sound for the rest of her life. Krauser swung around to strike her, but she's already darted away. Not, _not_ away. Sherry would never run away from anything or anyone again. As she careened headlong into the forest, she felt for the first time like she was running _toward_ something.

* * *

Dawn was breaking as Krauser finally limped his way back to the farmhouse. Through his still-puffy eyes, he saw Sherry sitting at his place by the fire pit, wrapped in a woolen blanket and poking some freshly-lit logs with a stick. Her face brightened when she caught sight of him.

"Well, _that_ was one fuck of an evening," she beamed. "Breakfast?"

* * *

Voices woke her. And the sound of a car engine. Sherry slipped off her cot and cracked open her bedroom door.

"...is near. Lord Sadler waits for you." She didn't recognize the gruff, heavily-accent voice, but it was right outside the front door. "You must come with me tonight. _Now_."

"Fine. Give me ten minutes to clear out of here." Krauser. But who was he talking to? The front door opened and Sherry bolted back to her cot. She heard Krauser's now-familiar footsteps and the creak of her own door opening.

"Well kid, that's all she wrote."

"Hmm...What?" she responded in her best just-woken-up voice. Sherry turned on the camping lantern and sat up just in time to catch a small plastic bag Krauser tossed to her.

"This should be enough to get you back home," he said. "Stay in here." Krauser went beck to the main room. While he was gone, Sherry held the bag up to the lantern and saw it contained two fat rolls of Euros and a credit card. Her hand went to her oily hair. _So gross._ There was no way she was walking into the townhouse's foyer looking like a refuge. And she'd have to go through Paris to get home anyway...

Krauser reappeared in the doorway, this time with a rucksack slung over his shoulder. "Go ahead and stay here 'till dawn, but leave all the stuff that isn't yours."

"So...it's over? I'm going home, just like that?" Sherry had dreamed of this moment every night for weeks. So why did it feel so bittersweet?

"Yeah, just like that," Krauser said with a snort. "You've got some good moves, kid. Tell your man I'm impressed." He turned to leave. "By the way, it's October sixth."

"Wait. I need to know something."

"Make it quick."

Sherry clutched at the rough blanket on her lap and leaned forward. "Last week—the night in the woods. Were you really going to kill me?"

"I tried, but you didn't let me." In the dim lamplight, Sherry could've sworn she saw him smile. "Good luck with what yer doin'." With that, Krauser turned and ducked out of the doorway.

"You too," she called after him. But he was already gone.

* * *

_November 1, 2004_

_London_

"And how would you like your steak, sir?"

"Still walking, if possible." The waitress smiled at this but Wesker handed the menu back without looking at her.

"Turns out my shoes were under the bed. Because I'm an idiot."

"You're not an idiot," Ada said gently, feeling a sudden urge to brush Sherry's hair out of her face. She'd first noticed back in the townhouse, but Sherry was quite tan, and thinner than the last time she'd seen the younger woman. _Something's up here..._ "Did you go anywhere else besides Paris?" Ada probed, trying to make it sound like an innocent question.

"No, I was just there for a few days. But it was _amazing_."

"What did you do?"

"Racked up credit card bills," Wesker said dully as he pulled out a Blackberry and began clicking away. He was without sunglasses tonight, hiding his eyes behind dark brown contact lenses—something Ada had never seen him do before. Hardly a perfect effect, but the restaurant's low light was forgiving.

Sherry drummed her fingers on the table and shot Wesker a look that made Ada nervous, though she couldn't say why.

" _Ahem_ ," Sherry said theatrically as she turned back to Ada. "I went up the Eiffel Tower, I saw a couple museums. And yes, I did some shopping."

"'Some,'" Wesker echoed with a grin.

"You're messaging her right now, aren't you?" Sherry's hand shot across the table so quickly that it made Ada jump a little in her seat. "Put that thing away. You're being rude." She made a grab for the Blackberry, but Wesker swiveled out of her reach.

" _I'm_ being rude?" he said with mock indignation.

"Her? Who?" Ada blinked. What was going on here?

"Fine," Sherry huffed as she stood. "I'm going to go powder my nose or something."

Ada waited until Sherry had left the room to speak. "So," she said.

"So?"

"Care to tell me what the hell is going on?"

Wesker set the Blackberry on the table. "Sherry has decided to join us," he said nonchalantly. "The transition's had its rough spots, as you can see."

Ada lifted her wineglass, trying to hide her surprise. "Oh really? So does that mean you're telling her everything?"

"A bit at a time, yes." Wesker turned to look at Ada straight on. A red shadow hovered behind his false brown eyes.

_I shouldn't have stayed away so long._ She couldn't stop herself from needling him. "And did you tell her about that boy's corpse? I assume it's still stashed in the basement."

"It's down there—with other things. But I'd appreciate if you didn't share any privileged information with her for now."

_Independence but never freedom..._

"I know the drill," Ada said with a dismissive wave. "If I step out of line, you'll kill me."

"Do you really think so little of me, Ada?" Wesker shook his head and smirked. "No, no, I wouldn't kill _you_."

Ada tensed. They both knew who Wesker was talking about, but she didn't want to make the threat any more real by saying Leon's name aloud. Instead, she bared her teeth. "God, aren't we just the best frenamies? _"_

__"What'd I miss?" Sherry asked as she sat down.__

__"Oh, nothing." Ada stole one more glance in Wesker's direction then swallowed her unease with some wine. "So tell me more about your trip."__


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_Watched by empty silhouettes  
Who close their eyes but still can see  
No one taught them etiquette  
I will show another me_

_-"Solsbury Hill," Peter Gabriel_

* * *

_November 5, 2004_

_Strasbourg, France_

Wesker blinked behind his sunglasses. He hated being caught off-guard, even by her. But there Sherry was, looking out the window at the crowd of people on the station platform. Her fingers absentmindedly massaged a spot behind her right ear—the tracking device he'd implanted before she'd left for the Pyrenees. It was extra insurance against another abduction attempt. _Although it seems I should check its location more often._

"What happened?" Wesker asked as he locked the compartment door behind him, shutting out the flurry of noise in the train's corridor.

"That's the first thing you're going to say?" Sherry smiled but folded her arms defensively. "Not 'how are you' or 'what a nice surprise'?"

"There's no such thing as a nice surprise." _As you're about to find out, I'm afraid._ He took the seat across from Sherry and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The sleepless week had left his eyes badly bloodshot, but his body held up right until that morning. Wesker wasn't supposed to go more than 48 hours without a booster shot to keep the virus in his bloodstream at bay, but he'd gotten sloppy. And now he was paying for it with dizziness and fatigue. His forearm still ached from where he'd rammed in a syringe just a few hours ago.

"Everything's fine, really." Sherry covered his hand with hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. "It was Excella's idea to meet you here and head back to Zurich together. But she got called away for some last minute work... _thing_." She rolled her eyes. "So I came by myself. Not that I'm complaining."

Sherry was dressed in a belted knee-length trench coat, leggings and high-heeled boots, all in black. The only hint of color was the gold locket at her throat and her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail. She looked like...him.

Wesker let himself sigh. If only he wasn't so damn tired, if only they didn't have somewhere to be, he'd happily take his chances—and her—right there on the narrow floor between them.

"Is this...?" Sherry touched the suitcase he'd set down with the toe of her boot.

"That's just luggage. I sent the samples on ahead," Wesker said, making himself sit upright. He'd already given Sherry a general overview of the mission, minus a few details. _And when will I tell her this particular truth—that I'm weaker than I look?_ No, one shock to the system at a time.

"So how'd it go? Get everything you wanted?"

Wesker wasn't in the mood parse if she was being mocking or playful, so he simply answered, "More or less, yes."

"And Jack did his part, I hope."

"Yes, but..." Why couldn't he just say it? _Going soft?_

"I was wondering, maybe I can do more training with him soon? I forgot to ask him before—"

"Krauser's dead."

Sherry shot back in her seat as if he'd struck her. Her mouth fell open and she immediately clasped her hand over it, smothering a sound that was halfway between a gasp and a scream. There was a final burst of activity outside the compartment and the train began to move. The rainy world outside the window sped up and soon began to fly by, but neither of them turned to look at it.

"How?" Sherry finally asked, knuckling away tears. She'd slouched down in her seat, limbs splayed awkwardly as if she'd forgotten how to use them.

For a moment, Wesker was tempted to let her cry, but... _You are mine,_ he thought. _Now more so than ever before. And no woman of mine weeps for a man who chose his own fate._

"Enough of that," Wesker said sharply. "He wouldn't want it."

Sherry shot him a withering glare but dutifully pulled a pack of tissues out of the black purse at her side. "Just tell me what happened," she said softly as she wiped her eyes.

"It was Ada." Wesker paused to let this sink in.

Her face went pale. " _Ada_? No, that can't be."

"Krauser attacked her. She had no choice. Frankly I would've done the same thing in her situation."

Sherry crumpled the tissue in her hand as she slowly shook her head. "He _attacked_ her? But that doesn't make sense. They were working _together_. Why would he...?"

"There was someone else—someone from Krauser's past," he said. "Ada got between them."

Sherry sat up with a start. "The person who took away his purpose? _He_ was there?"

Wesker had to stop himself from grinning. "Is that what Krauser called him? I had no idea he had such a poetic streak."

"Please Al, just tell me who he is." She was doing her best to hold back her tears, but Wesker could see the strain written on her face.

_This will hurt even more, little chatelaine. And it will change you._

"You remember Officer Kennedy, don't you?"

* * *

"You father has excellent taste." Excella held up her arm so the gold bracelet caught in the harsh fluorescent light. "Cartier, if I'm not mistaken." She looked like a pornified parody of a scientist in her six-inch heels. Her lab coat hung open to reveal a short, tight dress underneath.

"It's really nice," Sherry replied glumly as she leaned against the concrete wall. They were deep underground in a Tricell research facility outside the city. Sherry had seen places like this before: secret, secure and more than a little creepy. She turned away from Excella and peered down a long hallway that was lined with narrow floor-to-ceiling glass windows. The windows were reenforced with metal bars. Cells. And there were shadows moving within them. Wesker told her they were only animal test subjects—dogs, small monkeys and the like—but the cells looked large enough for humans. Tricell had started its bio-organic weapon research from scratch with samples of various Umbrella pathogens. This facility outside Zurich was all they had for now, but judging by the number of researchers working in it, they had big plans.

Wesker strolled down the corridor with several Tricell scientists in tow, his black suit and sunglasses an odd contrast against the gaggle of white lab coats. He stopped to alternately nod or frown at what he saw in the cells as the researchers furiously took notes on their clipboards. Sherry knew she should be interested too, but all she wanted to do was get to their hotel, put on some headphones and try to write down every important thing Krauser had taught her. She closed her eyes, wishing she could melt into the wall or disappear down a dark hallway. _Just like you showed me, Jack._ Maybe Krauser hadn't been her friend, but she'd come to respect him. She was stronger because of him.

But whenever she tried to picture Krauser's stern face, another image appeared instead: A younger man with strawberry blond hair, his face bloodied and dirty, but smiling down at her nonetheless. Leon. It just didn't seem possible. Why, after all these years...?

"My dear, are you all right?" Excella's hand was on her shoulder. The older woman's brows were furrowed with concern, but her dark eyes still sparkled with amusement. "I hope you'll be well enough for tonight."

"I'm fine, don't worry," Sherry said, mustering a cheerfulness she did not feel. After all, she was Wesker's daughter and things were expected of her.

Another scientist appeared at Excella's side, clutching a stack of computer printouts. He looked worried. "Ms. Gionne, so sorry to interrupt, but we have the results back and...and...I think you'd better look at this." Excella grabbed the papers and started reading. Her face suddenly fell.

"Albert!" She took off down the hall, the frantic click of her high heels ringing in the close space. "It doesn't match!" Excella shouted in Wesker's face. "It's not the master sample! How did this happen? What are we going to do?" The researchers shrank back, some holding their clipboards protectively against their chests. Sherry covered her smile with her hand. _And I thought_ I _had a temper._

"Excella, please," he said calmly. Wesker began to walk back down the hall. "Come here, let me explain." She trailed after him, the incriminating report still clutched tightly in Excella's hand. She shoved it at Wesker the moment they stopped. Neither of them seemed to notice or care that Sherry was still leaning against the wall just a few feet away.

"Explain away, _signore_." Excella sneered.

He took the papers, giving them a cursory glance. "I expected this—a double-cross by one of my assets, unfortunately. I take full responsibility."

" _Expected?_ " Excella all but screamed. "What am I going to tell my father? He could still pull the plug on this entire venture!" Sherry thought she saw a few researchers wince at this, but Wesker's face was as impassive as ever, his eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. She wondered if she should interrupt. He and Excella were standing far too close together for her liking...

"I will speak to him myself. This is only a minor setback." His voice was soft now, soothing. "Do you really think I'd let anything jeopardize our work?" Wesker smiled —a genuine smile, not his usual half-smirk—and Sherry felt a chill go down her spine and settle at the small of her back. _Say something! Stop this farce!_ But the breath caught in her throat.

Excella's face softened with relief. Relief, and something more. "Our work...Of _course_ not, Albert," she purred. With a nervous laugh, she lifted one slender hand and planted it on Wesker's chest.

Sherry didn't just see red—she saw the whole world engulfed in flames. The nameless force within her swelled up, begging for release.

_Mine, bitch. Not yours. MINE!_

The hallway behind them exploded in a cacophony of noise—cries, calls, growls, barks, all sounding somehow very wrong. Ragged shapes threw themselves against the windows of their narrow prisons, sending the knot of scientists scrambling. Sherry saw flashes of exposed muscles and sinew, fur, claws, snapping jaws and bulging eyes. Her body shook with a strange excitement and she realized she wasn't afraid at all.

"Emergency lockdown! _Now_!" Excella spun away from Wesker so fast that she didn't see him double over, grimacing in pain. _Just like the night of the party..._

Sherry gasped and stepped back. And it was over. The animals all fell silent as quickly as they'd begun to rage. Everyone stood stock still, too scared or confused to speak—except for Excella, who staggered down the hall muttering in irate Italian. " _Impossibile_ ," she hissed. " _Come..._ "

Wesker cleared his throat. He was standing up straight again as if nothing had happened. "It would seem our little friends prefer indoor voices."

* * *

_Another stupid party with more stupid people._ Sherry massaged her temples and looked into the bathroom mirror. Not a hair in her half-updo was out of place and she'd successfully convinced the makeup artist Excella had hired to not tart her up completely. She'd taken her locket off its chain and threaded it onto a black satin ribbon, turning it into an impromptu choker. The formal dress she'd bought in Paris fit like a second skin. It was bright red with a corset-like bodice and wide straps that framed her cleavage without looking too risqué. She even loved the way the long skirt rustled when she moved. In a word, she looked perfect. _But I'd rather just hide in here all night._

Sherry still felt raw from the news about Krauser. And then there'd been the incident in the lab. She gripped the sides of the sink, mentally replaying the heady moment when Excella raised her hand and all hell broke loose. Something had reached out of her and...

G _et a grip! Excella's temper tantrum upset the animals and Al was tired—that's all._

Wasn't it?

And why oh why had she picked _red_? The dress's bold color now reminder her of Ada—it was the older woman's favorite—but there'd been no time to get a new one. _Why did you do it? Why did you betray us?_ Thoughts of Ada inevitably led to Leon. He'd saved her life in Raccoon City, but Wesker told her on the train that Leon now worked for the U.S. Secret Service, taking orders directly from the President.

"If you saw Leon again, he'd be obligated to take you into custody," Wesker had said. _He'd lock me away, just like those damn rogue scientists._ And Leon was the one who ruined Krauser's life. And now Krauser was dead.

_Everyone I care about leaves me or dies._ And Claire...she couldn't even bring herself to wonder about Claire. Sherry drew herself up and sighed at her reflection. The choker around her neck suddenly looked more like a collar.

* * *

The party was in Excella's father's estate in the hills outside Zurich. The mansion was huge, decorated in the Moorish Revival style with sweeping arches, flamboyant stonework and bright tiling. There were candles everywhere, bathing the walls in flickering yellows and reds. Room after room unfolded before her, each full of people Sherry didn't know, drinking, talking, laughing. They were all Tricell employees, dressed to the nines. And why shouldn't they be? It was Chairman Gionne's birthday, after all.

Sherry felt curious eyes falling on her face and body, but she spoke to no one. The feeling of anonymity was oddly comforting. A melange of languages surrounded her, but more than a few guests were speaking in English. She let snippets of conversation wash over her as she drifted through the mansion.

"I don't know what happened today, but people seem spooked."

"I heard the R&D budget for next year took a huge hit. Do you think they're siphoning money...?"

"She's playing with fire. It'll be fun to watch while it lasts."

Sherry walked until she reached the soaring ballroom at the mansion's heart. At least a hundred people milled around, including a few she recognized from the reception in June—Tricell's top executives, sticking close to each other, and to an old man who sat in a throne-like chair at one side of the ballroom. She knew she would find them here, too—Excella, resplendent in a gold and black beaded gown that left nothing to the imagination, and Wesker, looking far too good in his tuxedo, his false brown eyes fixed on the old man's face. They weren't touching, but he and Excella still looked like a couple as they stood side-by-side and nodded politely in unison as the old man spoke. There was no hint of the discord from just a few hours earlier.

Sherry lingered in the doorway, not wanting to be seen just yet. Then she skirted the ballroom's edge where a row of thick arched pillars divided one side of the room into a narrow, shadowed loggia.

"She's doing him, obviously."

"Really? You think so?"

"C'mon, he totally gives Christian Bale circa _American Psycho_. I _s_ _o_ would."

"But he's, like, _old_."

Sherry paused, flattened her back against a pillar and listened. A group of eight people stood hunched over their drinks, gossiping relentlessly. They probably thought they could speak freely in this empty corner. But maybe they hadn't noticed the loggia. She peered around the pillar's edge to get a better look. They were a diverse group. Sherry heard a mishmash of accents, although they all spoke English. None of them looked older than 30.

"Actually, I hear they're getting married," said a young African-American man, grinning from ear to ear.

"Ewww, Sean! Why would anybody marry _her_?" a short woman with curly black hair shot back. "God, she's just so trashy. I mean, could her dress be cut any lower? We get it lady, you have boobs. Give it a rest."

"Isn't it obvious?" someone else Sherry couldn't quite see chimed in. "Her daddy isn't getting any younger. This is, what, his 82nd birthday? So this Wesker guy marries Excella, Giacomo keels over and what do you know—his will was miraculously changed to leave the company to them!"

"But it doesn't _work_ that way," the dark-haired woman insisted. "There's the board of directors, the VP's—"

"Who can all be bought, Bianca," the young man called Sean said. "All she has to do is bring in a few more revenue streams and _bam_ , it's a new day in Tricell land."

"Isn't _anybody_ going to try to stop her?" Bianca pressed on.

Sherry had heard enough. She detached herself from the pillar's shadow and silently doubled back to the ballroom's entrance where she snagged a glass of wine from a waiter. This time, she approached them in the open.

"So how about this party? Totally _Eyes Wide Shut_ , right?" she asked, flashing everyone her winningest smile. "When does the crazy masked orgy start?"

"Midnight!" several people answered in unison, and they all laughed.

"I'm Sherry." She offered her hand to Sean, who stood at the front of the little group, and saw his eyes brighten with interest.

"Name's Sean," he said. "Congratulations on finding the only people here under 40."

"And you all are...?" Sherry gestured toward them with her glass.

"The Tricell executive trainees," the third voice Sherry had heard cut in. It belong to a tall Indian man. But his accent was almost American. Or perhaps Canadian? "Hi, I'm Ashwin."

"2004 edition, baby!" Bianca flung her arms around both men's shoulders. "Best of the best." It was obvious she'd had more than a little to drink. She had a pleasant, round face and Hispanic features.

"So we're kind of a Model UN," Sean explained. "I'm from D.C. Bianca here's from Seattle. Ashwin's from...Toronto, right?"

"Yeah, Mississauga. Close enough."

"I _grew up_ in Seattle," Bianca corrected him. "My family's from Guadalajara." The others introduced themselves and ticked off their origins. _Buenos Aires_ , Munich, Cape Town, St. Petersburg, Beijing. When her turn came around, Sherry lied and said she was from London.

"Huh, I _thought_ you sounded like Kelly Osbourne," Bianca snorted. But Sherry ignored her.

"So what brings you...?" Sean began as he swirled the ice in his glass.

"Oh, I'm just here with my dad," Sherry said casually, motioning behind her. "I think you might know him—the one next to Ms. Gionne?" Eight jaws dropped. And Sherry let herself laugh. _You're lucky that's a lie—the truth would probably kill you._

"You're...he's your..." Ashwin stammered. But Sherry didn't let him finish.

"Actually, I'm glad I ran into you. I think I'm supposed to join the executive training program too."

"Oh _hells_ no." Bianca's eyes went wide. "We've been working our butts of for months and you think you can just waltz in—"

"Cool it," Sean told her firmly. "You know we need another person anyway." Sherry raised her eyebrows. It was clear who was in charge here.

"Need?" Sherry asked innocently.

"Yeah, we've got a weekend retreat coming up—climbing walls, trust falls, you know the deal—and we need three teams. We've already got the names picked out. Remember that game show _Legends of the Hidden Temple_?"

"Uh, vaguely?"

"So we've got the Green Monkeys." Sean pointed to Ashwin and two of the others. "And the Silver Snakes." Bianca and her two teammates made theatrical hissing noises that quickly dissolved into giggles. "But the Red Jaguars are still down a man—or woman."

* * *

"I'm getting out of here," she whispered in Wesker's ear. "Pub crawling calls."

"Not yet. You need to pay your respects to Mr. Gionne."

Sherry glanced in Sean's direction, mouthing _just a minute_ , then looked over at the man holding court from the oversized chair. "What should I say to say to him?"

_"_ Just be yourself," Wesker said quietly. Sherry winced. And which self would _that_ be? Sherry Birkin, Sherry Trevor or Sherry Wesker? The daughter or the mistress? Or maybe the Red Princess—whoever _she_ was.

The skin of Giacomo Gionne's hand felt thin and papery against hers, but his smile was warm enough. Excella had inherited his dark eyes and olive complexion. Even in old age, he was still handsome, but his breathing sounded labored.

" _ _Bellissima__ _._ " Giacomo's accent was even thicker than his daughter's. "Your mother watches over you from heaven, I am sure."

"Thank you." Sherry cast her eyes down and smiled bashfully. _My mother was an atheist, but I guess it's the thought that counts._ And did he have any inkling of the battle lines being drawn all around him?

_Stay alive, Gramps,_ she thought. _Give me time to save your stupid company._

* * *

"You'll never get my mind right, like two ships passing in the night." Sherry softly sang one of the songs she'd heard in the bar as the hotel elevator hit the penthouse level and opened with a ding. She'd kept her drinking to a minimum that night, preferring clear-headed conversations with Sean, Ashwin and the other trainees. But she'd had just enough to warm her up and make the world feel rosy. "Want the same thing where we lay, otherwise mine's a different way-ay..." She was tempted to belt out the song's chorus in the empty corridor. _In my bed, my bed, my bed._ The sound of voices stopped her. Angry voices.

"You don't understand, Albert!" Excella, shrill and pleading. "I need you—"

" _And right now my daughter needs me more!_ "

Excella burst out of the penthouse's door, her beaded dress making a heavy swishing sound as she moved.

"Oh, hi!" For a moment, Sherry was more surprised than angry to see her. What was it—1, 2 o'clock in the morning? The older woman was in a hurry. She seemed about to rush right past Sherry, but instead grabbed her arm and yanked her close. Sherry could smell the alcohol on her breath.

"A bit of advice, my dear," Excella hissed. "Never tell a man how you really feel about him." And then she was gone with the ding of the elevator.

* * *

Sherry tossed her coat on the back of the chair and stared at Wesker. He was slouched in the opposite chair, legs stretched out and fingertips pressed to his forehead. She saw his tuxedo jacket discarded on the floor next to him. There was only one lamp on in the room and an eerie bluish light filtered in through the windows.

Sherry craned her neck to look into the adjoining bedroom. The door was open and to her relief, the bed looked undistributed. She still wanted an explanation for Excella's presence, but that could wait. She took a moment to collect her thoughts and looked over the penthouse's Art Deco sitting room with its smooth, curving lines. Sherry liked it, and the exotic grandeur of Giacomo's mansion too. The London townhouse seemed almost dreary in comparison.

Wesker spoke first. "You made some new friends tonight."

_More like allies_ , Sherry thought. Even Bianca might prove to be loyal—once Sherry earned her respect. And after all, they had a mutual enemy.

"Yes, the executive trainees. Turns out we had a lot to talk about."

"And more interesting than those toffs you used to keep company with, I'm sure." Wesker dropped his hand and looked up at her. His eyes were totally bloodshot. Not even the contacts could hide the truth any more. "Does this means you've changed your mind yet again?"

Sherry ignored the indignation in his voice. "If you can still get me into the program."

He chuckled softly. "It may take some finessing, but I'll see to it first thing in the morning." Wesker stood and approached her.

"Wait, take those lenses out first," Sherry said, backing away. "They look awful." They'd been apart all week and hadn't so much as touched since that morning, but she was in no rush. Besides, he had some explaining to do.

"Very well," Wesker said over his shoulder as he headed to the bedroom. "I suppose you want to know why Excella was here."

Sherry was a surprised that he was the one to bring it up. But she decided to play it safe for the moment.

"Not really," she called after him. "Probably work stuff, right?"

He returned to the sitting room after a moment, his red eyes strangely bright in the semi-darkness.

"You've become quite a decent liar, but no." There was an edge in his voice. Wesker began to circle her slowly, lifting a hand to pull one dress strap off her shoulder. "I came back from the party alone, but she showed up here about an hour later—dead drunk, I might add. Feel free to speculate about what she wanted."

Sherry jerked the strap back up, annoyed. "I thought you said you'd do it if you had to."

"It's true, my life is one unpleasant task after another." He stepped back to look at her, and admiring smile on his lips. In spite of herself, Sherry felt her body stirring under his gaze. "But now and then a man needs to assert himself. So I threw her out." Wesker walked behind her and yanked the same strap down again—harder this time, making her flinch. "There will probably be consequences. But at least Excella can't accuse me of not telling her the truth."

She turned to face him. "That I need you more than she does?"

"Yes." His fingertips grazed Sherry's collarbone and moved up to brush her hair away from her shoulders. "You heard us?"

_He didn't touch her,_ Sherry realized _. He could've but he didn't. He kept his promise._

"From the hall. You were sort of loud."

"Hmm. I'll definitely pay for that later." Wesker's hand reached around her neck to untie the ribbon. Her locket fell to the carpet with a soft thud. "But let me deal with her. You have other concerns now."

Sherry blinked at the locket on the floor and reflexively bent to pick it up.

"No." Wesker pulled her back up before she could reach it. His hand was at her throat now, not squeezing but not letting go either. "You're mine tonight, not theirs," he growled.

Sherry exhaled loudly and looked up into his eyes, letting him see the strength and defiance in her own. Wesker just grinned. He liked it when she fought.

His free hand pulled down the zipper at the back of her dress and it crumpled around her ankles. Sherry stepped out of it lightly, wondering at how much the mass of red fabric looked like a pool of blood on the floor.

* * *

"What's this?" Sherry tapped the small red box with the end of her pen. Wesker had just set it next to her on the long dining room table where she sat with her notebook and laptop.

"Don't you know what day it is?" he asked as he tucked his sunglasses into his suit jacket's pocket and walked to the window.

"Friday?" Sherry glanced over at the calendar on the wall. "Oops. Christmas Eve."

She'd been pulling long hours since joining the executive training program, commuting to the Tricell headquarters in the center of the city to pour over marketing studies and take minutes in meetings. But it felt good to distract herself with new people, new thoughts, a new place. It helped deaden the pain of losing Jack. And Ada too.

As it turned out, Sherry's first impression of Zurich was actually the exuberant world the Gionnes had carved out for themselves. The city itself was a rather regimented place, steeped in German Protestantism. There were few tall buildings, despite all the major banks and companies that called the region home. Even the modern glass-and-concrete house Sherry and the eight other executive trainees shared in the Oberstrass quarter seemed wary of coming off as too showy. It felt vaguely like a dormitory, with stark white walls and lots of IKEA furniture.

Still, Sherry liked the house's main gathering area: an airy stainless steel kitchen that opened onto a living area that was divided by a table big enough for everyone to spread their work out on. The trainees were a competitive lot, but Sherry felt she'd won their tolerance, if not their full acceptance. She was even getting along with thorny Bianca, which was fortunate since they now shared a bedroom. But Sean...Sean with his sly, easy grin. He looked at her too often and for too long. Sherry found herself avoiding him. If only she could tell him it was for his own good.

Now that the cold weather had settled in, the trainees spent the evenings ganged around the table or watching the widescreen TV from the cluster of nearby couches. But Sherry didn't always join them. Some of the executives she'd met in June lived in the city too, and they barraged her with constant dinner invitations. She sometimes felt resentful eyes boring into her back on the nights she got dressed up to go out.

_This isn't what it looks like._ _I'm doing this for all of us._

But Sherry couldn't tell the other trainees that. She couldn't tell them that she was cautiously ingratiating herself with Tricell's leadership, turning up her charm to full blast, asking seemingly innocent questions and planting tiny seeds in conversation. No, it was too soon to bring in the others.

For his part, Wesker was keeping his distance, giving her a chance to stand on her own. _You have other concerns now._ And so did he. Officially, he'd been out of the country the past few weeks. But Sherry knew he was actually all but living in the secret lab. She also knew Excella was there with him. _Let me deal with her._ As if she had any other choice. Then he'd shown up unannounced that afternoon, just a few hours after Petra, the last trainee left in the house besides Sherry, left to catch her train to Munich.

A plate glass window at the end of the living room provided a sweeping view of Zurich's picturesque old town at the base of the hill. The ancient buildings and steeples below looked like something out of a fairytale, all covered in snow. Sherry looked up at the window now, where Wesker stood with his back to her, an inky silhouette against the fading afternoon sunlight.

She closed her notebook and grabbed the red box. "You could've told me you'd decided to start celebrating holidays. I didn't get anything for you."

"Just open it."

Sherry complied with a sigh, which quickly turned into a sharp gasp. Inside the box was a slender gold ring topped with a huge, creamy pearl—her birthstone. The pearl was surrounded by a wreath of tiny white diamonds. "It's..." she said, her mouth going dry. She tugged the ring out of the box's velvet lining and slid it on her left ring finger. It fit. A bit snug, but it fit. She felt a little light-headed as she stood and joined Wesker at the window. Sherry wanted to thank him, wanted to tell him the ring was exactly what she'd never known she wanted. Instead, she blurted out, "We always opened presents on Christmas morning at my house."

He cocked his head, amused. "Oh? It was always Christmas Eve for us. The whole family came over to my parents' house in Back Bay. It was quite the production. I think my mother fairly lived for it. We did that for years until..." Wesker turned away from her for a moment and looked out the window. "Well, until we didn't." _How strange_ , Sherry thought. _He never talks about his family_. He frowned down at the ring. "People might get suspicious if you wear it on your left hand. Put it on your right instead."

Sherry cracked a mischievous grin. "Come on, Al. You can't tell me what to do with a gift."

* * *

For the first time in weeks, she drifted to sleep with a warm body next to hers. Then Sherry was back in the ballroom at Giacomo's birthday party. Except it wasn't his party. And it wasn't the old man sitting in the high-backed chair. She was seated in his place. Sherry could feel the smooth carved wood of the chair's armrests under her palms. She wore the red dress again, but the shoulder straps keeps slipping down. In fact, the fabric seemed like it was alive. It flowed and pulsed around her body like waves of water.

She surveyed an endless line of people filing past. Some of them reached down to touch the hem of her gown. Others leaned close to whisper things she could not hear, from faces she could not quite see. Misshapen shadows darted amongst the passing crowd. Sherry saw flickers of teeth and claws and glowing yellow eyes. The shadows gathered around her and seemed to stoop low. Were they...bowing?

Then the pearl on her finger melted into a tear and the dress turned back into blood and crashed into a grisly puddle around her feet.

* * *

Sherry woke with a start. For a brief, terrifying moment, she didn't know where she was. With the shades down, the room was as dark as the shadows in her dream. She turned on the bedside lamp they hadn't needed the night before and stood to find the bathrobe she knew was somewhere on the floor.

"Good God," Wesker said, blinking his red eyes. "It looks like the morning after someone's 21st birthday in here."

"I tried to warn you." Sherry scowled at a pile of Bianca's dirty clothes in the corner. "Do you really want to stay here all week? A few people went to Gstaad to ski and I think they might come back early. Let's go home for a few days."

"Home? I didn't know we had one."

Sherry let out an exasperated sigh, even though she knew he was teasing her. "You know I mean London."

"No such luck." Wesker reached down to his the travel bag by the bed and pulled out three different cell phones. "That's where Excella thinks I am right now. But she'd never think to look for me here."

"Wait, you're _hiding_ from her?" Sherry balked. "That is too funny."

"'Hiding' is such a harsh word. Evading is more like it." He sat up, switched on the first phone—a Blackberry—and began scrolling through emails.

"Fine, we'll stay here." She sat down on the edge of the narrow bed and reached for the pearl ring she'd set on the bed stand the night before. Sherry turned it over in her hand a few times. She was surprised by how clearly she remembered the dream. "But if any of my roomies come back while you're here, could you _please_ not scare them? I really need them to like me."

"I scare people? Perish the thought," Wesker muttered, glancing up from his phone. "But why do you need them to like you? You're not here to make friends."

"Yes I _am_ ," she insisted, grabbing the phone from Wesker's hand. "It's really cutthroat here—we've even got teams. I need to play every angle. I can't do that if they think I'm only here because of your pull with Excella."

He smiled at this, sitting up straighter and crossing his arms. "You _are_ learning. So what's your plan? Make all the male trainees fall in love with you?"

Sherry pressed her lips together and thought for a moment. "Mmmm, not really feasible. There's five of them. I'd be better off picking one or two—"

"Wait, _five_?" Wesker snatched the Blackberry back with a snarl. "I was joking, by the way."

"And _by the way_ , they all think I'm 22," she said sweetly. His face darkened then, clouded by a sudden gnarl of emotions that made Sherry feel oddly satisfied. _See? Not so nice, is it?_

"Yes, you certainly are learning," he said coldly, absorbed in his phone again. Sherry just shrugged and got up. Her alarm clock read 6:30am. She usually woke even earlier to hit the gym before work. _I practically slept in. Guess this really is a holiday._

"Have you ever wondered," Wesker said as she opened the bedroom door. "if I have, shall we say, interests in other places? Excella excluded, of course."

Sherry gripped the door's edge and stared into the darkened hall. "I've wondered..." she heard herself say. She turned and looked him in the eye. "Do you?"

"Of course not. Where on earth would I find time for anyone else?" With a little noise of disgust, Sherry grabbed a discarded pillow off the floor and chucked it at him as hard as she could.

* * *

"Sometimes you have to let slights go," Wesker explained as they walked through a quiet park near the house. The crunch of their boots in the snow seemed like the only sound for miles around. If Wesker turned to her now and said they were the only two people left in the world, she knew she would believe him. Instead, he just went on in the same vein. "Revenge is a nice notion, but it's not always productive. Weigh it against your larger goals and reserve it for those who truly deserve it."

Sherry nodded, but his words were hardly comforting. "So you're going to let Ada get away with what she did?"

He stopped walking and pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. "In a word, yes."

"But how can you just...She betrayed you!" Sherry sputtered. "She killed someone who was supposed to trust her. _I_ trusted her. Doesn't that mean anything?"

Wesker extended a gloved hand palm-up as if he held Ada's life in it. "Even if someone wrongs you, even if you have good reason to hate them, they may still be useful." He curled his hand into a fist and looked at her. "And that's another important thing about revenge: It can usually wait."

Sherry stooped to gather some snow into a ball and chucked it at the nearest tree where it made a satisfying splat. "You're not even talking about Ada any more," she said glumly. _This is about Excella too. It's always about her._

"I'm talking about the difference between useful idiots and those who genuinely stand in our way," he said.

Sherry smiled sadly at him and shook her head. "That's another thing: Stand in the way of _what_? Maybe someday you'll let me in on your master plan instead of sending me on random quests like some video game character." She was just bending to make another snowball when Wesker answered her.

"My plan? Finding a way to save the world from itself, of course."

* * *

The pearl ring felt bulky and awkward on her hand and Sherry worried about losing it every time she took it off for the night. It was nothing like the locket that had been a part of her for almost as long as she could remember. Still, Sherry was determined to get used to it. She wore the ring even now as she stood in the kitchen in her pajama pants and a black zip-up sweater she's taken from Wesker's luggage. The microwave and her cell phone beeped almost in unison. Sherry checked the text message from Sean while she waited for the bag of popcorn to cool down.

"A few people are coming back tomorrow. Apparently there's plans for some New Year's Eve ridiculousness." She looked over to the couch where Wesker sat with the remote in hand, rapidly flipping through channels. "So you should probably—I mean, it would be easier if you just..."

Wesker finished the thought for her. "Of course. I'll leave in the morning."

_So this is our last night alone until who-knows-when._ The week had gone by too quickly, and she'd left too many things unsaid and unasked, content to just have him to herself again.

_Save the world from itself._ Sherry had left that strange statement hanging unchallenged in the cold air. She hadn't pressed further because she didn't want to ruin the day by laughing in his face. Surely that wasn't Wesker's real goal. Surely he was just after money or power or maybe even answers to the questions Umbrella's unfinished work had left behind. But saving the world? It had to be one of his weird jokes—the kind only he found funny.

Sherry dumped the popcorn into a big plastic bowl and headed over to the couch. "There's nothing happening. Just turn it off," she said as she sat down cross-legged next to him.

"There's always something happening. Is that my sweater?"

"Like you ever wear it." Sherry rolled up the sweater's sleeves before grabbing a handful of popcorn. _And it smells like you so maybe I'll just keep it._

"I do, actually. So could you—" Wesker suddenly sucked in a breath and lurched forward. "No," he said to the TV screen.

"What? What is it?" Sherry let the second handful of popcorn drop back into the bowl. Something was wrong.

"...Mean it when I say I won't rest until bioterrorism is stopped. When you've seen the things I've seen, you can't feel any other way." It was an interview. The TV showed the head and shoulders of a white American man in his 30's. He was tanned, with a closely-cropped beard and heavy brow. If she'd seen him on the street, Sherry would've written him off as utterly ordinary. But something about his auburn hair and the way he held his head seemed familiar.

"Who is he?" She looked over at Wesker and was surprised to see his shoulders hunched over like a cornered animal.

"The other side," he said quietly. "Now let me listen."

The female interviewer's voice narrated a scene of the man walking on a city street next to a shorter woman with mousy brown hair. She had a rather large nose and pointed chin, but her gaze was steely.

"Early next year, Redfield as his former S.T.A.R.S. partner Jill Valentine plan to found an NGO with the goal of fighting bioterrorism all over the world. With backing from the U.S. Government and the Global Pharmaceuticals Consortium, the yet-unnamed organization will deploy experts to hotspots where local governments don't have the resources to combat bioterrorism." The scene shifted back to the face-to-face interview. "Is there anyone out there—any groups or individuals you're specifically targeting?"

"Yes," the man responded. "There's someone out there. Someone I— _we've_ been watching for a long time. He's caused a lot of good people a lot of pain."

The remote in Wesker's hand was shaking now. He teeth were bared and clenched. Sherry felt panic rising in her chest and remembered the flash of anger he'd shown her practically a lifetime ago when she stood up from a table and tried to defy him. Redfield...wasn't that Claire's last name?

"And if that person is watching right now," the interviewer prodded. "do you have anything you want to tell them?"  
"I know this is the part where I'm supposed to say 'you can't run forever' or 'you will face justice.'" He shook his head. "But no. I have nothing to say to him."

"Oh fuck you, Chris..." Wesker's voice was terse, angry, about to snap. Sherry found her eyes darting back and forth from the TV to his face. Why could she never think of anything to say in these moments?

"Dedicated, selfless, and out to save the world. That's why Chris Redfield is one of our people to watch in 2005," the interviewer concluded. "Next, we talk with a teacher from—" Wesker switched off the TV, sprung off the couch and began pacing the room. Within moments, he was shouting at someone on his cell phone.

"I saw the goddamn interview with Redfield! Why did I have to hear about this on CNN International? If he so much as sneezes, _I'm_ supposed to know about it! What the hell do I pay you for?"

Sherry got to her knees and leaned over the back of the couch. "Umm, Al?" she ventured, but he was already dialing another phone call.

"Not now," he snapped without even looking at her.

"Bloody hell..." Sherry slammed the bowl on the coffee table and stalked off to her room. She still had no idea who Chris Redfield was, but he'd just ruined her evening.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 6

_Through a midwinter clearing  
A forest greets a snowy evening  
Year after year the Holly King  
Passes the torch as it was intended_

_Through a midwinter clearing  
A final kiss and a new beginning  
His Summer Queen wearing his wreath  
Soon with the sun she will be ascending_

_-"A Winter's Carol," Tori Amos_

* * *

_January 7, 2005_

"You've got a big instrument there."

"What?" Sherry spun around to see Sean standing in the doorway of her bedroom. She'd been folding laundry and singing the Christmas carol _We Three Kings_ absentmindedly—perhaps louder than she thought.

"Your voice. Don't let anybody tell you it's not an instrument." Sean walked in now and casually batted at the door behind him, though it didn't close all the way. It was early evening and the other trainees were gradually arriving home. Voices discussing plans for dinner echoed up the staircase just outside Sherry's room.

Sean was still dressed for the office in dark pants and a button-down shirt. He looked good. He always looked good. A normal girl would have the sense to be attracted to him, to his youth and bravado. But Sherry looked at him and felt nothing. _I'm not broken_ , she assured herself. _I'm just not like other people._ Which reminder her...

"Oh, that," she said, feigning embarrassment as she shoved some socks into a dresser drawer. "Sorry, I've had that song stuck in my head for days." Sherry sat down at the edge of the bed, on the side closest to the door. "I went to Catholic school until I was 12 so I know all the words, even the creepy ones at the end." That much was true. Though her parents hadn't cared for religion, Our Mother of Sorrows was still the best private school in Raccoon City. Sherry hadn't had a chance to change out of her school uniform the afternoon her mother called in a panic and told her to head to the police station...

She pushed the memory aside as Sean sat down next to her. "How come you never sing for us?" he asked.

"I don't want people to think of me as the girl who sings," she said. "Because that's all I'll be." Sherry took a moment to consider Sean's smiling face, his dark, almond-shaped eyes and carmel skin. She traced his strong jaw and the sweep of his brow with her eyes. And still felt nothing.

"That would never happen," Sean insisted. "Look, I know what some of the others think, but you're not just here because of your dad. You're the hardest-working person in the group."

"Thank you, that means a lot." And it did. Sherry made herself sit up straighter and let a bit more of her real self show through the docile facade she usually put on for the other trainees.

Sean leaned closer and looked down at Sherry's hands that were folded loosely in her lap. "That's nice. A Christmas gift?"

"Yeah, from my dad. It's my birthstone." Sherry held up her left hand so the ring's diamonds caught fire in the light. She turned back to Sean. "What do you think of Excella?"

Sherry watched confusion cloud his face, followed quickly by disappointment. "Really, you wanna talk about _her_?" Sean sat back and sighed. "Well, okay. I think she's smarter than everybody gives her credit for. But you probably know her better than me, right? I mean, she and your dad..."

She just stared at him for a moment. All the things she couldn't tell him swirled around in her mind like unquiet ghosts. Then Sherry let her mask fall away. "I loathe her," she snarled, letting him see the fire in her eyes that she usually reserved for another man. "She's after my father and Tricell and she'll ruin them both."

"Woah, woah!" Sean held up his hands. "What are we talking about here? I just wanted to say hi!"

Sherry put a hand on his shoulder. "Listen, we're supposed to get job offers from Tricell when we're done with the program, right? But if she gets her way, there might not be a company left. I _do_ know her and she's nothing but a spoiled brat. Excella would bleed Tricell dry just to fund her bloody lifestyle." She was bluffing, of course. She wasn't actually sure what Excella wanted beyond the one thing—or rather, the one person—Sherry was determined to not let her have. But Sean didn't need to know that.

His eyes widened with concern and he glanced down at Sherry's hand resting on his shoulder. "You really think so? Damn, I guess Bianca was right..."

"We can stop her," Sherry said firmly. "No one would suspect us. Help me dig up some dirt on her and I'll do the rest."

"What do you mean? You'll go to your dad?"

She shook her head. "No. Officially he's just a contractor." _As if I'd tell him about this anyway_. "But I _am_ on a first-name basis with the CFO and general counsel."

Sean narrowed his eyes, but his mouth betrayed a slight grin. "So let's say we take her down. Then what?"

That was a good question. Removing Excella from the equation was her only real goal. Sherry let her mind wander over the things she'd seen and done since her birthday—the experiences that were changing and tempering her even now. It all went back to that night when they'd stared each other down over dinner and a bottle of wine. _I need people who can lead,_ Wesker had told her.

_Okay Al, I'll start here._ And to think, just a few months ago she'd still pined for a normal life.

"Well, I don't know about you," Sherry said coyly as she let her hand caress the length of Sean's arm. "but I want to run this shit."

Sean laughed now and shook his head, but she could see the color rising in his face. " _Wow_. Okay. I usually don't say this to girls but...you're pretty street." Sherry just smiled at him and leaned in closer. "And maybe a little crazy," Sean said. He reached up to gently touch her cheek. "But that's okay. I like a little crazy."

She knew what had to happen next. Sherry closed her eyes and felt the warmth of his mouth close over hers. She kissed him back the way she imagined normal girls were supposed to, sweetly and without teeth or force. Without passion.

Sherry didn't hear the door open but the hand that closed around her upper arm and yanked her to her feet was undeniably real.

"We have a situation." Wesker pulled her from the room and into the hall.

"What? Where did you...?" Sherry gasped. He was dragging her down the stairs now, and her only choice was to follow or fall over her own feet.

"Get ready. There's not much time." He let go of her arm just as they reached the living room. Sherry stumbled forward but caught herself before she fell. She looked up and saw all the other trainees staring at her. Worry and confusion were written on their faces. And fear.

"He just walked in," Bianca said tersely. " _Why_ is he here?"

"I don't...I have to go." Sherry dashed to the entrance hall's closet and grabbed her new black parka. Wesker was already waiting by the front door. She paused to look at him while she crouched to lace up her snow boots. It was dark outside, so his sunglasses looked especially out of place. And his clothes had an oddly military look: black tactical pants, knee-high leather boots and a black turtleneck.

"Wait, I left my purse in my room."

"You won't need it." He extended a hand to help her stand and Sherry felt her heartbeat quicken as his fingers closed around hers. For a split second, she didn't care where they were going or why. Then the door was open and a cold rush of wind hit her face.

There was a Range Rover idling in front of the house. Sherry saw two shadows in the front seat—men dressed in snow camouflage, their faces covered by ski masks. She heard Sean's voice behind her now, calling her name, calling out an apology. But she was already getting into the vehicle's back seat.

* * *

"Our ETA is approximately an hour," Wesker said flatly into his cell phone, waited a beat for a response, then hung up.

"Where are we going?" Sherry asked, trying to keep her voice steady. "What happened?"

"You'll be briefed when we arrive at our destination," he told her.

She folder her arms and stared ahead at the silent driver's headrest. The adrenaline rush had faded and now she was just nervous. "Lovely. I don't hear from you for a week and you show up out of the blue to scare my friends?"

"That will be the least of your worries if we don't succeed tonight." Wesker leaned forward and said something to the other man in the passenger seat. He handed back a dark, bulky thing that turned out to be a tactical vest. It took some contorting in the confined space, but Wesker pulled the vest on. Then he sat still for a moment, his face as unreadable as ever.

"Several test subjects were in transit to a new research facility near the German border," he finally said as he fixed a wireless headset in his ear. "There was an accident. They escaped."

* * *

The driver navigated quickly through the city streets and before long they were on the outskirts of Zurich, and then in the middle of nowhere. A light snow was falling from the darkened sky. She couldn't see their surroundings, but the seemed to be on a winding mountain road. The Rover rounded a bend and suddenly they were on top of a wrecked truck. Other vehicles surrounded it, and Sherry could see about a dozen people milling about. A few portable spotlights were set up, bathing the scene in an unnaturally bright glow. The driver pulled over and Wesker quickly opened the door and sprang out. Sherry followed suit.

"What the hell are you doing?" he shouted at no one in particular. "Turn those lights off!"

Someone emerged from the knot of people standing by the side of the road. It was Excella, dressed like a snow bunny about to hit the slopes. "Albert," she cried. "Four dead already. We can't lose any more time!"

Sherry saw two figures in hazmat suits conversing quietly over several bloodied sheets that lay on the snow. She looked more closely and realized the sheets covered dead bodies.

"First get those lights off," Wesker insisted. "The next town is only a few miles off. We can't draw the local authorities' attention."

Excella turned and nodded at one of the men standing near the spotlights. The blinding lights turned off and a dozen flashlights flicked on in their place.

"Alright, let's get to work." Wesker's voice was now calm and clear. "You two, get the bodies out of here," he said, pointing to the people in hazmat suits. "Everyone else, check your gear and get a lock on the subjects' tracking collars. Give me five minutes and then we'll move out."

Sherry felt Wesker's hand on the small of her back. He guided her away from the group and stopped behind the Range Rover they'd arrived in. He opened the vehicle's hatchback and began unloading gear.

"Time to see if Krauser was a good teacher," he said, handing her a holster, belt and pistol. Sherry hadn't held a gun in months, but the pistol's weight felt good in her hand. For a moment, she was back in a sun-baked field in the Pyrenees.

"And here I thought I was going to be in management," she said with a rueful smile as she fastened the belt and holster around her hips.

"The fact remains that you are one of the few people on the planet to encounter bio-organic weapons and live. Excella insisted on coming along, but she's never seen anything like this before. I need you to keep her calm tonight."

"You want me to _babysit_ her?" Sherry balked.

"Call it whatever you want." Wesker learned close to her and whispered harshly. "Just do as I say. This one blessed time, Sherry. _Do as I say_."

She glared back as him for a long moment before answering. "You owe me one, Al."

"Of course." Wesker looked back towards the group of men clustered at the side of the road. They were dressed in winter camouflage and ski masks, like the men who'd come with them in the Range Rover. And they all had high-powered rifles and sidearms. "The pistol is just a precaution. I hand-picked two bodyguards for you and Excella. One is a former UBCS member. You know about them, I think."

Sherry nodded. "Yes, from the Red Queen." The UBCS were one of Umbrella's special forces units, tasked with containing biohazard outbreaks. It made sense that at least one of their former operatives would end up working for Tricell.

"Also..." Wesker reached back into the trunk and pulled out a combat knife in a leather sheath. "My reconnaissance team recovered it after the mission in November." Sherry grabbed it and slid the knife out, turning it so the blade shone in the meager glow thrown off by the car's interior light. It was Krasuer's knife, the one he'd always had at his side. She'd know it anywhere.

"It's been cleaned and sharpened," Wesker assured her. "I hope you'll find it useful." He turned to head back to the waiting group.

"Wait," Sherry said. "What you saw back at the house—I can explain."

Wesker looked back over his shoulder. "I saw everything I needed to see," he said coolly. "And it is going to stop immediately."

She took a step forward, buoyed by a flash of indignant anger. "It's because he's black, isn't it?"

"No, it's because he's a _he_."

Sherry just shook her head and laughed under her breath.

"Find something amusing, little chatelaine?" he sneered.

"Just something Jack once told me," Sherry said breezily. "That knives cut both ways."

* * *

"Don't worry, _chica_ ," the bodyguard who called himself Carlos said affably. "Cerebus, the Umbrella eggheads used to call them. But they're only doggies." Sherry couldn't see his face, which was covered by a ski mask, but his voice was warm and playful. His accent sounded Latin, but Sherry couldn't quite place it.

" _Only_?" Excella said sharply and she fiddled with a tracking device. She was the only one in the group without a weapon so they'd had to give her something to do. "They killed the entire transport team. We must neutralized them on sight."

"Me 'n Hans will take care of them. There's just four, right? You ladies relax and enjoy the hike." Carlos motioned to the other bodyguard who was walking point. He turned to Sherry. "Actually, I don't know his name. But he seems like a Hans, no?"

"Enough talk," Excella snapped. "I've got a signal. This way." She pointed to a tree-covered hill in the distance.

"No problem." Carlos quickened his pace to catch up with Excella, who was walking surprisingly fast. "But maybe you and me can go somewhere later and talk all we want?"

"How dare you! Do you have any idea who my father—"

"Shhh!" 'Hans' hissed, but said nothing else.

They all fell silent. Sherry grinned and pulled her hood tighter around her face. She made a mental note to seek Carlos out later. He seemed like fun. They walked on through the snowy forest, putting ever more distance between them and the road. Wesker and the two other teams had headed off in other directions, but so far there'd been no word of anyone locating the missing animals.

The pistol and knife hanging from Sherry's belt swayed with every step, and the pearl ring kept snagging on the inside of her knit gloves. The night was cold and her jeans were already stiffening against her legs. She wished she was better outfitted, but there's been no time. _Oh well, I've gone through worse._

Clouds and falling snow blocked the moon, so the beams of the bodyguards' flashlights guided them up the hill. The terrain wasn't quite a rugged as the Pyrenees, and Sherry found herself rather enjoying the ascent. She was surprised to realize she wasn't very worried about possibly facing down the animals. If anything, she was curious. There was a time not so very long ago that she would have been scared, but things had changed. _And I'll never be hunted again._

"Wait," Excella said as she stopped in he tracks. "This can't be right. The signal..."

"What is it?" Carlos asked, but then "it" was there, a huge black shadow leaping out of nowhere. Hans screamed and dropped his flashlight as the dog knocked him to the ground. It looked like a Doberman Pinscher, but it was far larger than a dog of that breed had any right to jumped back and drew her pistol, but the grappling shapes melded together in the darkness. If her aim was off...

"Shoot it! Kill it!" Excella shrieked.

"I can't get a clear shot! I'll hit him!" Carlos shouted back. It was over quickly anyway. The dog's savage growls drowned out Hans' cries and the animal rose from its fresh kill, turned towards the rest of them and lunged. Sherry gasped when she saw that its eyes glowed red, and a tingling feeling started at the base of her spine. The pistol sat useless in her hand, pointed at the ground. Then the night exploded in gunfire. Carlos was screaming something as he fired, but the dog was still coming at them.

"No! _Stop!_ " Sherry heard herself shout. Suddenly, the animal feinted left then bolted into the trees. She rushed forward, grabbed Hans' flashlight and followed.

* * *

Carlos and Excella called after her but their voices soon faded and she ran deeper into the forest. Her hood flew back and her hair streamed out behind her. She still had the gun clutched in her right hand and the flashlight in the other, but they both felt weightless.

Why she was chasing after the monstrous dog, Sherry didn't know. It was almost like she didn't have a choice. Her body was on fire with sensation. She breathed in the cold night air but it smelled like the sweat from a body she knew well, and like freshly-laundered sheets and the bottle of rose-scented shampoo that was sitting in her bathroom back in London. The trees passed by in a blur, but she was not lost. Because she could smell the dog too.

She crashed into a snow-covered clearing and doubled over, her lungs spent. An animal's whine made her look up. The dog was lying not ten feet away, bleeding from the places where Carlos' bullets found their mark. There was so much blood on the snow. Surly the animal couldn't survive much longer.

As Sherry approached and shone her flashlight on the dog, she saw it was injured in other ways. Its fur and skin had fallen away in places, revealing the muscle, tendon and bone beneath. It was rotting. Still alive, but rotting. _Is that what I'm like on the inside?_ Sherry wondered.

But this was no normal animal, she remembered. A litany of viral names paraded through Sherry's mind like an arcane alphabet: Progenitor, T, G, T-Veronica. The dog was a victim of a diabolical bargain: Life in exchange for preternatural strength and stamina. Life in exchange for power.

"You killed Hans," she said slowly and softly, as if addressing a young child. "You shouldn't have done that. He was a nice guy. Well, he was probably a nice guy."

The dog lifted its desiccated head and growled its response.

"No," Sherry said sharply. _I watched the light go out of my mother's eyes. You don't scare me._ The animal fell silent. It had listened to her during the attack, too. It had _obeyed_. Too late for Hans, of course. And the creature had to die—so did the three others that were wandering the hills. They were simply too dangerous to attempt to recapture. But maybe...

Sherry knelt, holstered the pistol and stuck the flashlight in the snow so at least there was some light in the clearing. She took off her gloves and unzipped her coat. She only had a T-shirt on underneath, but she liked the feeling of the cold air's bite. Snowflakes were already coating her hair as she extended a bare arm towards the dog.

The animal regarded her for a moment, the pulled itself to its feet and shambled over to her, where it collapsed against her chest with a pained whimper. Her shirt was almost instantly soaked through with its blood. But Sherry let out a relieved sigh as she wrapped an arm around the ruined dog's shoulders. "See, isn't that better?" She lifted her head and looked to the edge of the clearing. "Now where are your brothers?"

Sherry closed her eyes and felt the rise and fall of the animal's labored breathing against her body. The shiver in the small of her back spread and pulsed through her whole body. She tilted her head back and started to hum.

Did she know all the words? Of course she did. Even the creepy ones at the end. Sherry heard the first few lines of the song in her head, then began to sing aloud mid-verse.

_Field and fountain, moor and mountain, following yonder star._

The song became a chant in the darkness. The dog's ragged breathing kept time.

_King forever, ceasing never, over us all to reign._

Sherry felt something nuzzle her shoulder. She opened her eyes and saw another Cerebus dog standing beside her, red eyes illuminating its crumbling face. It laid down and rested its head on its skeletal paws. Two dogs. That left two more. She raised her voice in song again.

_Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying, sealed in the stone-cold tomb._

Soon, two shadows loped out from behind the trees. Sherry extended a beckoning arm to them and saw her hand was dripping with the first dog's blood. Her ring was coated in it too. She made a fist and watched red droplets fall and spread on the snow, then sang on.

_Glorious now behold Him arise, King and God and Sacrifice._

Sacrifice. Yes, that was the next part. Sherry stopped singing and stared at the three dogs that were still mobile. They immediately lined up a few feet in front of her, swaying slightly as if moving with a breeze. _They're a pack,_ she realized. _A pack without a leader._

There was a crunching sound to her left. Sherry turned her head just in time to see a figure holding a flashlight and clad in a purple ski jacket stumble into the clearing.

"Not a word," she rasped at Excella. "Don't move."

The older woman froze in her tracks and slapped a hand over her mouth. Sherry saw her dark eyes widen in terror. But to her credit, Excella did not scream. Then the three standing dogs began to growl. Sherry glanced back at them and saw they were staring straight at Excella, poised to pounce.

_Her? Her? Her?_

It was the sound of their growls transmuting to some approximation of language inside her head. They were asking—no, _begging_ to be released. Begging to do what they were made to do. Sherry wavered.

_Her? Her? HER?_ they asked again, louder this time. It would be so simple. She could blame it on the dogs...

Sherry looked down at the injured Cerebus still lying against her chest and sighed. She heard Excella let out a squeak. Then Sherry drew the pistol at her side, aimed carefully and fired into what was left of the animals' brains. The dogs dropped to the ground in rapid succession. The injured one yelped, but Sherry laid the pistol aside, reached for Krauser's knife and stopped its whining with one quick motion across its throat. Then she carefully laid the freakish dog's carcass on the snow. And with that, the ritual—for it was a ritual—was ended.

Sherry straightened her back and looked over to Excella. There was someone by her side now, tall and dark and glowering. It was not Carlos.

She could smell his skin, even from this distance. _I know what you are. I know why your eyes are red. You're one of them._ It was as if she was seeing Wesker for the first time—or perhaps just clearly for the first time. She wondered how she looked to him now, the orphan he'd fostered on secrets, the woman he'd made with his body. Sherry felt her chest heave, desiring him even as she knelt half-frozen in this snowy forest, covered in blood and surrounded by death.

"Feel free to scream now," Sherry said.

And Excella did.

* * *

The worst part was not the ice cold decontamination shower. Nor was it the faceless people in hazmat suits who gingerly examined her naked limbs, looking for scratches and bite marks. It wasn't the vials upon vials of blood they drew from her or the noisy MRI machine she had to lie motionless in while they peered inside her body. It wasn't the painful injections they gave her or the hushed words they spoke when they thought she wasn't listening—words like _infection_ and _incubation period_. It wasn't the white scrub-like drawstring pants and shirt they gave her to wear, or the flimsy slippers that did not keep out the cold of the quarantine chamber's tile floor.

Nor was it the dreams that came when she finally collapsed from exhaustion for a few fitful hours, and she heard a man cry out as his head shattered into a million pieces against a concrete stair and there were shadows wading through pools of blood and Gwendolyn clicked her tongue and said, "Ack, such a mess."

No, the worst part was how Wesker would not look at her. He stood outside the quarantine chamber's thick glass wall, speaking softly to various people, studying the printouts and scans that were handed to him. He'd taken off the tactical vest, but still wore his sunglasses. And he would not look at her.

Sherry sat cross-legged on a hospital bed—the only thing they'd been able to find on such short notice—her hair stringy and tangled around her shoulders. They'd given her back the pearl ring, washed clean of gore, but she was very, very glad she'd left her locket in her room. Sherry played with the ring now, sliding it on and off her fingers, contemplating it under the room's harsh florescent lights. She occasionally glanced up to watch the activity beyond the glass.

The quarantine chamber was in the underground lab's largest room—the same lab they'd visited that first day in Zurich. A long glass wall cut across the rear of the room, forming the chamber's front, and the lab's concrete walls enclosed the other three sides around her. They'd brought her in through a door in the wall behind her, which led to an airlock-like antechamber. The quarantine chamber was quite large, and Sherry had a sinking feeling that it had been designed to accommodate multiple people at a time.

Researchers and other personnel bustled beyond the glass wall, but Sherry couldn't hear anything they said unless someone hit the intercom button that turned on two-way communication in her cell. Excella was there too, sitting just outside the glass wall and looking shell-shocked. A man in snow camo hovered nearby, his ski mask clutched in one hand. His mousey brown hair was tousled and he looked worried. But Sherry could still see how handsome he was, with a narrow, angular face and large, dark eyes. _Is that Carlos?_

He brought Excella a cup of coffee and bent down to whisper something in her ear, to which the older woman just nodded stiffly. He moved in and out of the room, but kept coming back to check on Excella with the same look of concern on his face. After a few hours of this odd dance, Sherry saw Excella close her eyes as the man bent close and she absently reached up to brush his collar with her hand. Sherry snorted with disgust and turned her head.

_You should be paying that kind of attention to me, Al. You should at least pretend to care._

Sherry wasn't sure how much time had passed. She hadn't slept very long after they first put her in the chamber, but maybe it was already morning.

And Wesker would still not look at her.

* * *

Wesker said something to a group of scientists and suddenly everyone began to leave the room. The man in snow camo helped Excella to her feet. She looked pale and tired. The older woman stole a glance back at the quarantine chamber, her perfect eyebrows furrowing with an emotion Sherry could not place. Maybe is was suspicion. Maybe even contempt.

Once they were the only ones left in the room, Wesker walked to a computer console and hit the intercom button. "Can you hear me?" His voice sounded tinny over the speakers in her cell.

"Yeah," Sherry said. She set the pearl ring on a folded white blanket beside her. Wesker now stood in front of the glass wall, hands clasped behind his back. He was finally looking at her. _But you waited for everyone else to leave first._

"I'm sorry about the injections. I know they're painful and I've personally seen no evidence that you were infected with the T virus. However, we could not take the risk," he said mildly. "How do you feel?"

"Bored," Sherry grumbled. "How long do I have to stay in here?"

Wesker took off his sunglasses and began to clean the lenses on the edge of his shirt. "Quarantine will last another 48 hours, then we'll move you to the new research facility. It's much larger and you'll be comfortable—"

"No!" Sherry flew off the bed and flattened her palms against the unyielding glass wall. "Please don't turn me into an experiment! You said you'd never do that to me. You said that's what everyone else wants to do. But not you. Not _you_!"

He sighed and shook his head. "Sherry, please. There is something very strange going on here. And until I figure it out, you need to be kept somewhere safe."

"Safe? You have some bloody odd ideas about keeping me safe!" Sherry angrily jabbed the glass with her forefinger. "You _made_ me go out there tonight, Al. You put me in danger in the first place!"

Wesker's face darkened. "No, I brought you along to do a job," he said tersely. "But you disobeyed my orders and nearly got yourself killed. Again. You seem to have a talent for that." He turned brusquely from the glass wall and began to pace. "If anything had happened to you—anything at all..."

"Oh so now you're going to go all _Wuthering Heights_ on me?" she shot back. "'I cannot live without my heart' or whatever?"

"My _life,_ " Wesker corrected her from between clenched teeth. "The quote is 'I cannot live without my _life_.'"

"Well that just sounds stupid," Sherry quipped, crossing her arms. "Anyway, let me out of here and find your answers another way. I won't be your prisoner. And I have work to do."

Wesker stopped pacing and glared at her. "That boy, you mean?"

"Maybe," she said, her voice as cold as the floor beneath her feet. "Or maybe all the things _you_ brought me here to learn. Remember?"

His composure shattered along with the sunglasses he hurled against the wall. Sherry jumped a little and folded her arms tighter across her chest.

"And do _you_ remember what happened just a few hours ago?" Wesker shouted, his voice echoing in the concrete room. "I have never, _ever_ seen anything like that. B.O.W.s hunting someone down, not even attacking and then standing patiently while—"

"They didn't hunt me," Sherry said sternly, cutting him off. "I called them."

She didn't want it to be true, but knew it was. Sherry remembered the eerie feeling of calm that had come over her in the snowy clearing. She didn't know what it was or if she could even control it, but something inside her had summoned the dogs. That same force had flared along with her anger that day in the lab, when the infected animals gave voice to feelings she could not show. Oh yes, it had been there for a long time, for years and years, just waiting for its chance. And now it was free.

Sherry did not want it. But she would not let herself be afraid of it either. She opened her mouth to tell him this, but Wesker was prowling along the glass wall again, frustration clouding his face.

"Impossible. You couldn't have done that," he said with a dismissive wave.

"Why is it impossible?" Sherry yelled. "You just said you don't know what happened out there! How can you just..." Wesker wasn't looking at her any more. Sherry took a deep breath and dropped her arms to her sides. _Eyes up, you bastard._ "Listen, I want to find out the truth too," she began as calmly as she could. "But is keeping me a prisoner really the only option? I mean, _you're_ not locked up in a lab." Sherry felt a cruel grin tugging at her lips. "But you should be."

He whirled on her with a snarl. "What did you say?" His face was nearly touching the glass now.

"You're infected with a virus, just like those dogs," Sherry said, pressing her palms and forehead against the glass that divided them. "That's why your eyes are red. You never told me the truth. But I saw it tonight. I smelled it on you." She was breathing hard now, staring him down. "How? When?" she demanded.

Wesker stepped back, his eyes wide. "It was an experimental virus." The words came out thick and stilted, as if someone was wresting them from his throat. "Your father gave it to me right before the Raccoon City outbreak."

"Really? So you were both infected?" Of course, it made so much sense. Why hadn't she realized it before? _Your father and I were quite close..._ "And did you flip a coin to see which of you got to live?" she sneered.

"That is _not_ how it happened!" Wesker slammed the glass wall with his palm and the entire room seemed to shake. Sherry winced but did not move.

"Well, Dad's dead just the same," she breathed, letting the barest hint of pleading slip into her voice. "And all I have left is a man who won't let me have anything for myself. Not even him. Don't you think that's sad?" But Wesker did not respond. She closed her eyes and saw shadows swirling. There was a sound too, a rattling down a corridor. A ghost, perhaps.

"Sherry, I..." She opened her eyes and stared straight into his. They were oddly dull in the florescent light. "You don't understand," Wesker said, his voice low and raw. "I want you to soar. I want you to be—"

"Be _what_?" she spat. Sherry pulled back from the glass. "A freak like you?"

His face hardened and Sherry saw his hands curl into fists at his side. "When you get out of there..."

Sherry let out a short laugh. "Why wait, Al? Come in here now. Come get a taste. I'm not scared of you." She turned away from the glass wall and began to walk towards the bed, then looked back to favor him with a vicious smile. "But I think you might be scared of me."

"You little...monster!" Wesker hissed before he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

_When you came in the air went out  
And every shadow filled up with doubt_

_I don't know what you've done to me  
But I know this much is true  
I wanna do bad things with you_

_-"Bad Things," Jace Everett_

* * *

_January 21, 2005_

_Zurich_

He was drinking Scotch whiskey tonight—his father's beverage of choice, though he'd never really developed a taste for it himself. But now the smooth burn was a welcomed distraction from the wound that was slowly bleeding out inside him.

_Be what? A freak like you?_

As if sensing his thoughts, Sherry turned and shot Wesker a quick smile. Then she looked back to the long Mayan stela that hung on the wall.

"They believed the gods needed blood sacrifices, or else they'd die," Sherry told the tall young man on her left.

"The _gods_ would die? What's the point of having gods if they can die?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, that's just what they believed," Sherry said with a shrug. "Anyway, the Mayan rulers developed these complicated bloodletting rituals." She gestured to the stone tablet, which depicted a kneeling nobleman in profile. He wore a massive sculptural headdress and his arms were raised to his face. It looked like he was pushing a braided rope into his mouth. "That's what's going on here," Sherry continued. "He's threading the rope _through_ his tongue. They'd let the blood drip onto strips of paper and burn them as an offering to the gods."

"Wow, that's..." the young man mumbled.

"Badass. I know," Sherry nodded seriously. The young man just shook his head and walked away. "Oh come _on_ , Ashwin, don't be such a baby! It's history!" She grabbed her wineglass off a side table and went after him without giving Wesker another glance.

Wesker sank back in his armchair and glared and the eerie stone image on the other side of Excella's living room as the sounds of animated conversation filtered in from other rooms. And above the din of voices, he heard Sherry's bright laughter. She was acting like nothing had happened, like everything was just fine.

_Be what? A freak like you?_

This wasn't part of the plan. He'd brought Sherry to Zurich to learn and to keep her out of trouble. So far, she was doing plenty of the former but nearly none of the latter.

Part of him just wanted to leave her in a cell until she finally learned her lesson. But Excella was the one who'd pointed out that shipping Sherry off to the new research facility was not actually feasible. She'd made too may friends during her few months in Tricell's executive training program, and was already distinguishing herself as one of the top candidates. Her sudden absence would be questioned. And so he'd let her out after the 48 hour quarantine period, let her go back to the house in the Oberstrass, to the whirl of work and social events. And to that young American. Sean. Wesker had learned a few interesting things about him...

Now Sean trailed after Sherry as she walked back into the room. "See, here's the thing that freaked Ashwin out," she told him.

" _You_ freaked me out," Ashwin's annoyed voice called from the corridor.

The click of stiletto heels announced Excella's entrance. "Oh yes, Father bought that for me in Mexico a long time ago," she said to Sherry. "It's so unique, don't you think?"

Sherry nodded. "Yes, I really like it." The two women took a moment to size each other up, though they were so subtle about it that Wesker wondered if he was the only one who noticed. He couldn't stop himself from mentally comparing them.

Sherry wore her locket with the orange velvet dress he remembered from Ada's final visit, and her hair fell unfettered down her back in tawny waves. It made for a sharp contrast with Excella's emerald green cocktail dress. The older woman's black hair was coiled on top of her head and she looked a bit like a prim 1950's hostess. And while Sherry seemed totally at ease tonight, Excella's smile looked strained.

There'd been a new tension between the two women since the incident two weeks ago. They were still outwardly polite to each other, but Wesker knew the things Excella saw in that snowy clearing had shaken her. He was shaken too, because he still hadn't found a solid explanation for any of it.

Sherry had clammed up after their shouting match in the quarantine room, refusing to tell him anything else about that night. But for her part, Excella seemed to be rising to the challenge. She'd actually been quite helpful in recent days, smoothing things over with her father and Tricell's board and diverting more money for lab security. Perhaps she'd finally found her voice.

_Well, she found_ something _, anyway._

Carlos walked into the room now, looking dapper in a new suit. Wesker was relieved that Excella had found a new target for her affections. The woman simply didn't know how to take "no" for an answer and he was tired of their little game for now. Still, he'd been as surprised as anyone when Excella plucked Carlos from the commando team and made him her personal bodyguard.

_Carlos Oliveira_... Wesker had recruited the young mercenary specifically because he'd survived Raccoon City. But he hadn't counted on Carlos being kicked upstairs, and he didn't like it one bit. Wesker caught the other man's eye from across the room and nodded in greeting. Carlos smiled affably and nodded back.

_Don't get any bright ideas, boy. I can take all of this away._

The web of lies was growing broader by the day, and Wesker couldn't allow factions to form within the group of people who knew the truth about his work with Tricell. He had to stay in control...

"I'm so sorry about your mother's passing," a vice president whose name Wesker couldn't recall said as he put a hand on his shoulder. That had been Excella's idea too, to cover for pulling Sherry out of her room that night and their ensuing three-day absence.

"Thank you." Wesker shrugged the man off lightly and stood. "It was sudden but...not unexpected. Now if you'll excuse me, my drink seems to be broken."

They were gathered at Excella's residence tonight to celebrate Tricell's recently-announced acquisition of a pharmaceutical company in California. The executives present had spearheaded the effort, along with their assistants, the four most promising trainees. And Sherry was one of them. _Of course she's rising quickly. After all, she's William's daughter and my..._

The memory of Sherry's voice cut into his thoughts again. _A freak like you?_

Wesker frowned at his empty glass. It was his third of the evening, but he still felt far too sober. _Well that just means I need to have more._

* * *

When he returned the the living room with a fresh drink, everyone was gone, their voices echoing from other parts of the cavernous apartment. Just as well. He was hardly pleasant company tonight. His tie felt too tight and his eyes itched behind their brown-tinted contacts. And Wesker hated these rooms. They reeked of Excella's personality, with predictably garish colors and reproduction Louis XIV style furniture. _It's as fake as you are, my dear. Someday, when I don't need you anymore, I'll say that to your face._

He dropped heavily into the armchair, wishing he was still in the lab, even though the blood and tissue samples from the dogs had yielded no answers so far. Neither had the samples they'd take from Sherry. The G virus was still dormant inside her, a mocking ghost. There were no signs of mutation in her body, no signs of...anything. It didn't make sense.

Wesker lifted his head to stare at the grim Mayan stela. He knew all about sacrifices, especially the kind that involved pushing other people into the flames. He recalled something his old mentor James Marcus told him after a particularly gruesome vivisection: "We must often destroy something in order to understand it."

If it was anyone else—literally anyone else in the world—he wouldn't have backed down. He would've packed them off to the new research facility that same night and watched with baited breath as they ceased to be a person and became just another puzzle to solve.

But it wasn't anyone else. It was Sherry.

Wesker still remembered the first time he saw Lisa Trevor, Umbrella's unequaled human guinea pig, some 30 years ago. She was a dirty, broken figure crouched in the corner of a cell, her face hidden behind claw-like hands. He imagined Sherry huddled in that same corner, grimaced and knocked back a long, searing draught of whiskey.

Calling Sherry a monster had been harsh, hasty. In truth, Wesker now had no idea _what_ she was. He only knew that Marcus had been right. Wesker could find his answers or continue with his original plans for Sherry. He couldn't do both.

Not for the first time since the night in the snowy hills, Wesker's thoughts turned to the Red Princess, who she really was—if she existed at all. For months now, he'd reminded himself that he didn't even believe in the idea. It was a desperate theory born from minds far inferior to his. If he spoke the name, it was only to tease Sherry with it. Now things had changed, and doubt hounded him. Doubt, and a feeling he hadn't known in a very, very long time. Fear.

Just then, Sherry and a shorter, dark-haired young woman came into a room. _That must be Bianca—the one who doesn't pick up after herself._ They both gave him a startled look, as if they'd been caught doing something wrong.

"Oh, sorry. We didn't think anyone was in here," Sherry said.

"Well, here I am," he growled. Bianca's eyes widened at this, but Sherry touched her arm and they filed out the door as quickly as they'd come in.

_Curious_. Wesker closed his eyes and forced himself to focus. They'd only stepped outside the doorway, probably thinking he couldn't hear them. But there were so many unexpected things he could do...

"Umm, is your dad okay? He seems really down tonight." It was Bianca's voice.

"He's still upset about my grandmother. It's been really hard." Sherry sounded anxious, but she lied prettily enough.

"Maybe he should've stayed home tonight."

He heard Sherry sigh. "Yeah, maybe. Anyway, where's Sean? I want to check out the study with him."

"How cozy," Bianca needled. "Just the two of you?"

"It was one bloody kiss. It didn't mean anything," Sherry said angrily.

"Sure, whatever..." Their voices finally moved beyond his hearing. _Childish games_. Even now, he expected more of Sherry. He wanted...

"Hi there." Sean had come in from the door on the other end of the room and was now standing in front of him. The young man had an ease about him that made Wesker feel leery. "Mind if I sit?" Sean gestured to another armchair nearby.

"Not at all." _What else can I say?_ Sean pulled the other chair around so it was facing Wesker. He sat down and leaned forward, a serious expression fixed on his handsome face.

"Okay, I'm not going to beat around the bush," Sean said, his voice low but confident. "Your daughter is an amazing girl. I care about her a lot."

Wesker couldn't stop himself from grinning. American directness. He did miss it sometimes. "Are you asking for my permission to pursue her?" he asked, bemused.

"I am, yes," Sean replied earnestly. "I know you mean the world to her. And I know you saw us in her room that night. I just want you to know that my intentions are completely noble."

Now Wesker bristled. _Does he have any idea who I am?_ "And which 'intentions' would those be?" he said, his voice a low rumble. "I think you have several."

Sean smiled awkwardly. "I'm sorry?"

"Your name is Sean Armand. You are 25 years old. You have an MBA from Wharton. And your father is the Global Pharmaceuticals Consortium's chief lobbyist in Washington. That's quite the pedigree. But it makes me wonder: Why exactly are you here?"

The young man's face hardened now. "For the same reasons you are, I guess."

"Well then, if you'll excuse me," Wesker said as he stood. "We can continue this conversation another time, but I'm not sure you'd enjoy that. Also, permission _not_ granted." He turned his back on Sean and walked out of the room. The evening had officially grown tiresome, but he was still in the mood for one more drink.

* * *

Pour, swirl, sip. The same ritual his father went through whenever he lost a patient.

_There's something about this little girl._ Wesker had suspected as much for years, and known it for certain the morning she'd turned away from his bedroom door, even though the truth still evaded him. But at least he knew what it _wasn't_.

In his past life, he'd tangled with more women than he cared to remember, reveling in the thrill of the chase and the egotistical rush he got when he saw the hesitation in a woman's eyes melt into cheerful consent. But it had never been anything more than that. The word _love_ was simply not in his vocabulary, not since that long-ago spring day when he'd come home from school and...

_No one gets to have that word. Not even you, chatelaine._

Excella was laughing loudly in another room, and the whiskey was no longer staunching his wound. But he knew what would.

Wesker found her in a hallway. "Time to go. You're not feeling well," he said.

Sherry turned and challenged him with a glare. "I'm perfectly fine." _Be what?_

"All right, then _I'm_ not feeling well."

"Wait, I'm not done!" she protested, her voice a fuming whisper.

He blinked. "Done with what?" _A freak like you?_

Sherry's gaze darted from side to side. "Nothing. I mean the party. I want to stay."

"No, we need to talk." Wesker grabbed her hand.

* * *

Excella offered them her own driver and Sherry reluctantly said goodnight to her friends. As they stepped into the snow-covered street, Wesker wished he could simply be happy with Sherry's accomplishments—especially because he'd set them all in motion. But now he knew she wasn't merely stronger. Somehow, she'd become powerful.

The car pulled up and he opened the back door for her. Sherry looked at him crossly as she got in.

That power. Wesker needed to control it, even if he didn't understand it. _But there's only one way that can happen._

He got into the back seat and told the driver the name of the hotel where he was staying. Wesker heard Sherry let out a long sigh, but he dared not let their bodies touch. He stole a sideways glance at her though, and smelled rose perfume and red wine. There was something else on her skin too—a scent he could not place, but it made him want her all the same. It clouded his mind and threw everything in his neatly-ordered universe into confusion. Or was that just the whiskey?

Sherry lifted her hand to push a strand of hair out of her face and the diamonds in her ring winked at him. He'd bought it for her on a whim, simply wanting her to have it, like he wanted her to have so many other things.

"I should not have brought you with me that night." His voice sounded oddly faint in the closed space. "If I'd just left you out of it, everything could've gone on as before."

"And it can't now?" Sherry asked.

"No," Wesker said, sharply this time. Then he admitted, "I don't know."

The car stopped at an intersection and Sherry looked over at him, her hair turning to spun gold in the reflected light of a streetlamp. But she said nothing.

_She is a light_ , Wesker mused bitterly. _I can't understand her unless I snuff her out._

And he knew now—knew with absolute certainty—that even when she'd still been a sad girl huddled behind a book, even when she'd been kidnapped, even when she'd sat in quarantine staring him down from behind glass, he'd always been the real prisoner.

* * *

He tossed the contact lenses in the bathroom garbage and went back into the main room. The suite they'd stayed in last time was unavailable, but this smaller space would serve. Sherry was sitting at the foot of the bed. She'd taken off her locket and was contemplating the photo inside, but snapped it shut and set it aside when she saw him.

"Okay, you wanted to talk. So let's talk," Sherry said. He was on her in a split second, pinning her against the bed. "Al, what the fuck!" she shouted.

"I think you need a little reminder about who's in charge here," Wesker hissed down at her. His hands moved in a flurry now, unbuttoning, unbuckling, reaching up Sherry's dress to pull away her tights. Why not? She usually enjoyed a bit of roughness. "There's something Ada once told me: 'I don't do evil.'" The black fabric that clung to her right thigh shredded under his fingers. "But I do. I do."

"Stop it! I'm serious!" She was pushing back now, but Wesker was too strong for her.

"And so am I." Wesker leaned close until their faces almost touched. Sherry winced and turned away, probably thinking he was going to kiss her. "I am _not_ a freak. I am what comes next," he snarled in her ear.

She just bared her teeth and pushed the heels of her palms against his collarbone. "Get off me _NOW!_ " With a burst of force, Sherry shoved him back, rolled out from under him and tumbled to the floor. Wesker stood up now, but she quickly got to her feet and whirled to face him.

"I see how it is," Sherry said between heaving breaths. " _You_ get to break rules. _You_ get to do whatever you want." He saw no fear in her eyes, only anger. "It's all about control with you. It's always been about control!" Sherry's voice rose now, harsh and accusing. " _That's_ why you never told me the truth about your eyes, isn't it?"

Wesker felt the blood drain from his face. There was no use denying it. "I was going to tell you. When I was ready, I would've—"

"You were never going to be ready," she snapped, cutting him off. Without taking her eyes off him, Sherry sidestepped to the chair where she'd tossed her coat. "I'm leaving."

Wesker moved to block her path to the door. "I can still turn you into her—into another Lisa," he threatened, feeling his own anger rising. "Then maybe you'd finally learn some obedience."

Sherry's eyes went wide. "You don't mean that," she said hoarsely. "You're drunk." Then she bent down to reach for her coat. "I'm not in the mood for this."

"I've heard _that_ before." Wesker advanced on her again, but her fist collided with the side of his face and he instantly tasted blood. He staggered backward more out of surprise than pain. Wesker wiped his hand across his mouth and saw it was smeared with red. "Not bad," he conceded. "Not bad at all." He looked up at Sherry and saw the color rising in her cheeks. She was breathing hard, practically panting.

"What do you want from me?" Her voice was a choked whisper.

"I want..." he began, but Sherry was already striding forward, cupping his face in her hands and kissing him so hard that her lips came away stained with his blood. He shoved her down on the bed again, pulling off what remained of her tights. She did not resist this time. Sherry pulled her dress up around her waist and reached around to the zipper in back. "No, leave it on," he said.

Then Sherry's fingernails were digging into his back, slipping and scratching with each thrust. She was saying something between gasps, but he could not make out the words over the rushing din of his own heartbeat.

She climaxed quickly, letting out a long moan and grasping at the rumpled sheets around her. Her body spasmed then went slack under his.

"You're not getting out of this that easily," Wesker said with a spiteful grin.

"And neither are you. Roll over." She lifted her head and stared straight into his eyes. "Do it."

"Is that a command?" He almost laughed. "I don't respond well to those."

Sherry's blue eyes blazed with a rage he'd never seen before.

"Respond to _this_." Her hand shot up and wrapped around his throat, catching him off guard just long enough for her to shift her weight and flip him onto her back.

Wesker stared up at her in surprise. He'd never let her take control like this before, and wasn't about to start now. He reached up to grab the front of her dress, but Sherry planted her hands on his shoulders and bore down on him with a sharp cry. She was like a wave crashing over him, pulling his body into hers, and he gave himself over to the torrent in spite of himself. The world narrowed down to her thrashing body and sheets that were growing damp with sweat or blood. The wave was coming again. Wesker could hear its roar building in his ears as it got closer and closer, until it finally broke over them.

Sherry's head was thrown back now and she was screaming, but it was not really her voice. It was his own, younger and full of agony, bouncing off the walls of a white tiled bathroom...

Then it was over. Sherry's head lay pillowed against his chest. Wesker shifted and stretched out his arm to turn off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into cool darkness. "What did you say?" he asked finally. "Just a minute ago, you said something."

"I said...please don't send me away." Her voice was on the verge of breaking. "Let me stay here."

Wesker started up at the ceiling. "Why should I?" he began flatly. "You never listen. I want..." The words caught in his throat and the truth spilled out in their place. "I want you to be an equal. _My_ equal."

Sherry pulled herself up and pressed her cheek against his forehead. He instantly felt the wetness of her tears. "Then let me stay here with you," she whispered. "Please."

* * *

Sherry stood at the hotel room's window and took a sip of water from the glass in her hand. She was naked except for the bed sheet wrapped around her body. Below, Zurich looked dull and cold in the gray morning light. She decided she was in no rush to rejoin the outside world.

She folded the fingers of her free hand against her palm and examined the dried blood trapped under her nails. She'd also woken with the salty film of tears on her cheeks, and found herself ashamed of the tears but not the blood. _I begged him. He said he wants us to be equals but I ended up begging him for mercy._

She'd spent the past two weeks telling herself everything was fine, trying to focus on her work for the training program and hoping Wesker had forgotten all about laboratories and scalpels and needles. To make matters worse, the first trainee cuts were on the horizon, and tensions were running high in the Oberstrass house.

Sherry was fairly sure she, Bianca, Sean and Ashwin were safe, but she had doubts about the others. She had a feeling Dima would be going home to St. Petersburg soon. His father was recently diagnosed with cancer, and the prognosis wasn't good. Petra was visibly miserable and spent every evening on the phone with her boyfriend in Munich. Max and Isabel were hanging in there, but they weren't exactly distinguishing themselves either. Sherry and Sean's other Red Jaguar teammate, Liu, was a hard worker, but that was about it.

All the anxiety was nearly overwhelming. At least her nonexistent grandmother's death gave Sherry an excuse to hole up in her room for hours on end—time she spent with the Red Queen laptop. She'd recently found an interesting file labeled "internal investigations." It detailed the cases of every Umbrella employee who'd ever been caught embezzling or trying to sell research to a competitor, how long they'd gotten away with it, and the mistakes they made that finally got them caught. It made for an absorbing read, as well as another pretense to avoid the other people in the house. Even Sean. Especially Sean.

She still wanted at least one other trainee firmly on her side, but Sherry wasn't sure how long—or how far—she was willing to let things go with him. Since her return from the "funeral," Sean had kept a respectful distance and offered only brotherly concern, which was a small relief. But was it just her imagination, or had his goodbye last night felt strained, maybe even cold? As much as she dreaded it, she had to get Sean alone again.

Sherry backed away from the window and sat down on the side of the bed. Last evening, she'd somehow managed to hold herself together while she prowled around Excella's apartment and Wesker stared daggers at her every time she crossed his line of sight. _When is he going to stop acting like everything's my fault?_ Even during the tense car ride to the hotel, she'd felt more annoyed than worried.

But then she spilled blood for the first time since the night in the snowy clearing, and the charade was over in an instant. Had he really gotten drunk and tried to force himself on her? Did she really punch him? Sherry half-wondered if it was another of her strange dreams, but the dried blood under her nails said otherwise. The rest of the night had been a blur of skin and anger, of wanting and giving and taking until there was nothing left and she'd finally passed out by his side.

But first—first she'd begged. She'd stood up to his threats in the quarantine chamber and even thrown them back in his face, only to have all her fears tumble out in one frenzied, unguarded moment. _Let me stay here...please._ She felt pathetic. But to Sherry's surprise and relief, he'd said...

"Yes, of course." Wesker's voice was behind her, even and professional. He was on the other side of the room with a cell phone glued to his ear. If last night's violent dance was still on his mind, he didn't show it. "Thank you, that will do." He hung up and set the phone on the dresser with a soft clink. He'd woken before her and already showered. Sherry heard the rustle of fabric as he got dressed. The clothes were a second skin, a _façade_ of conspicuous wealth and taste that allowed him to walk unimpeded—but not unnoticed—through the world. However, Sherry knew about the raw anger and passion that lurked just underneath. She could smell it on him.

"How's your back?" she asked without looking away from the window.

"Nearly healed, actually. My head is clearer too," Wesker replied casually. Sherry turned to watch him, and his gaze quickly dropped to the buttons of his shirt. "I lost control last night," he said, an edge of discomfort in his voice.

It was the closest thing to an apology she was likely to get. _He lost control and I had it, at least for a little while,_ Sherry mused. It had felt good. Too good. "Control," she echoed. "Funny thing to be talking about if we're supposed to be equals. Or were you just winding me up as usual?"

"No, I meant it." Wesker seemed to regain his momentum now, tucking in his shirt and rolling up the sleeves to his elbows—a habit he'd had for as long as Sherry could remember.

"And how are we going to manage that?" Sherry turned back around and stared down at the little pool of water at the bottom of her glass. "Do you really want me to be like..." she began softly. _Like Lisa. A monster._ What if he'd changed his mind yet again and last night's promise meant nothing? She suddenly felt dizzy. Sherry closed he eyes and saw syringes, plastic tubes and sharp things laid out on metal trays.

Then Wesker sat down next to her and the weight of his body on the bed snapped her back to reality. Sherry saw the bruise her fist made near his mouth had nearly vanished. He hadn't combed his hair back yet and it fell freely across his forehead, making him look younger and less intimidating.

"I want you to just be you," he said. Wesker leaned forward now and rested his elbows on his knees. Sherry's eyes were drawn to his bare forearm. What was that little red mark on his skin? A scab? Whatever it was, it seemed to be fading as she watched.

"I never get sick. My body can heal from nearly any injury—and heals fast, as you can see," Wesker said as he sat up straight and slowly flexed his right hand. "I can go for days without eating or sleeping. I am faster and stronger that you can even imagine. But there are...drawbacks. The virus your father gave me was unstable, and I live with the consequences every day. I doubt anyone else in the world could make the same choice I did." Then he turned to Sherry with a sad half-smile. "I wanted your path to be different. I still want that."

"Oh-kaaayyy," Sherry said slowly, her brows furrowing with skepticism. "Care to clue me in?"

"Of course. I happen to know you're going to pass the training program's first cut next week. If you last until the end of the year—and I'm sure you will—Tricell will offer you a permanent position. I'll make sure that job will be as my assistant, and nepotism policies be damned."

Sherry frowned and set down her water glass. "Hmmm, I heard the word 'assistant.' Not quite the same thing as 'equal,' I think."

"Assistant in name only, you understand," Wesker said mildly. "By then, you will have full access to Tricell's resources. Then our real work can begin."

She let out an exasperated sigh and folded her arms. "Here we go again—the same old mystery." Sherry had held her tongue the past few months, content to keep the peace between them while she focused on her own goal of taking Excella down. But those few minutes in the snow-covered clearing changed everything. "Why can't you just _tell_ me, Al? Don't you ever get tired of playing these games?"

"Never," he said, a sly grin playing across his face as he nodded towards the window. "What do you see out there?"

Sherry turned her gaze to the gray and white city below and thought for a moment. It had to be a trick question. "A park, trees, cars, buildings," she said indifferently.

Wesker stood up and put a hand on the windowsill. "That's what most people see, yes. But it's just a veneer. You have to look closer."

"Fine, so what do _you_ see?"

"Suffering," he said. "Suffering that no one wants to acknowledge or actually do anything about."

"But...that's not true." Sherry shook her head, confused. She suddenly felt a chill and pulled the bed sheet more tightly around her chest. "There are so many charities and foundations and lots of people trying to do good."

"You really think so?" Wesker turned from the window and stalked across the room, his voice terse. "100,000 dead in Raccoon City. 3,000 dead on 9/11. Yes, people are upset for a time. They talk about changing the world. Then they forget. They _willfully_ forget. They go back to worrying about celebrities and their state of their neighbor's lawn." He grabbed his suit coat off the back of a chair and pulled a pair of sunglasses out of the inside pocket. "So nothing ever changes. The world becomes a darker place every day and no one really cares. But I will _make_ them care. Where are my shoes?"

Sherry blinked at him then looked down at the floor. "How?" was all she could say.

"I'm afraid the specifics are still falling into place." Wesker walked back to her side and lifted her chin with his hand. "But the answers are close, I can feel it. I believe you're one of them."

Sherry wriggled away and stood up. "No, I won't spend the rest of my life in a cage."

"That's not what I'm suggesting," he said, catching her bare shoulder before she could walk away. "What happened two weeks ago was..." Now it was Wesker's turn to stare at the floor. "I still can't find an explanation for it, and I need one." He looked up again and his red eyes gleamed for a split-second. "But I think I've found a compromise. On the phone just now, I acquired a furnished apartment here in the city. Messy roommates are quite tiresome, wouldn't you agree? At least we already know each other's habits. Plus, there are less invasive tests I can run, and I need to have you close at hand in case you experience another..." His mouth twisted as he hesitated. "Another episode."

"And what if I do?" Sherry asked warily. "Will you send me to a lab then?"

Wesker frowned. "I hope we can avoid that eventuality."

Sherry just sighed. So imprisonment was still a threat. Maybe it would be a wound between them forever. She sat back down on the rumpled bed, feeling defeated. "Fine, so tell me more about how we're going to save the world or whatever."

Wesker stood over her now, and she could tell by the look on his face that she'd struck a nerve. But he managed to stay calm. "I've told you before: I want you to be a leader. I can already see it happening, Sherry. Don't think I haven't noticed how you interact with other Tricell employees. You're bringing them over to your side—to _our_ side. When you speak, others listen. People are drawn to you; they are not afraid of you."

"But they _are_ afraid of you." It was not a question. "You want me to be your ambassador."

He smiled down at her. "That's a good way of putting it, yes. Most of all, I want you to stand by my side."

"But not now," Sherry ventured. "Not yet."

"No, there's still too much for you to learn. Which reminds me: I'd like you to make an effort to regain Excella's trust. She seems to think you deliberately put her in danger that night."

Sherry looked down at her stained nails again. Just a few weeks ago, that suggestion would've made her blood boil. Instead, she reached for the water glass she'd set on the floor and thought about Jack. Sherry hated to second-guess him, but now she wondered if he'd rushed into getting his revenge. Maybe that was why he died.

She closed her eyes, tipped back the glass and swallowed the last of the water. Behind her eyelids, she thought she saw shadows dancing. Sherry wiped her mouth to hide a wolfish smirk and said, "Right, I can do that."


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

_I appreciate the chance to hurt  
 _ _I'll kill you  
Ice pick into your neck___

_I will do anything  
Talk to you like I might care  
Anything  
Rippled by the nightmare_

_Moonshine distillery  
Back road to villainy  
Military start at the part with artillery_

_-"Artillery," Infected Mushroom_

* * *

Excella dropped an inch-thick stack of papers on Sherry's desk. "Read these and write an executive summary. I need it by Tuesday. Call Petermann's and add two more people to Saturday's reservation. You haven't picked up my dry cleaning yet. Did you already forget how much I hate lilies? I want them gone from my office immediately. When is your father's birthday?"

Sherry looked up wearily and smoothed the skirt of her cream-colored sweater dress. "Okay, I'll do it, sorry, the vice president of sales sent the lilies so take it up with him and Dad's birthday isn't until August."

Excella's upper lip curled. "Put in on my calendar anyway. I don't want to miss it." She stomped back into her office and slammed the door behind her. Excella had been in an especially foul mood all week. Tricell's annual shareholder meeting was coming up soon, which meant more stress for both of them.

Sherry sighed at the closed door and picked up the phone to call the restaurant. It was late February and she'd been working as Excella's assistant for about a month. She'd come up with the idea that dreary winter morning in the hotel room, to fulfill both Wesker's request and her own goal—though Wesker didn't need to know that. For her part, Excella had raised an incredulous eyebrow at Sherry's offer but said, "Well, you can't be any worse than my last assistant."

Sherry did miss Mr. Ross, the genial VP she'd been paired with when she first joined the trainee program. At least he'd had some interest in mentoring her. Excella used her as more of a whipping boy. She'd expected nothing less, of course, but that didn't make it any easier. Even worse, Excella was resisting Sherry's friendly, pliant overtures. Something in the older woman had hardened against her, though Excella did seem to enjoy having someone to push around.

Still, she was learning interesting things about her rival. For example, Sherry now knew that Excella did not actually have an official role within Tricell. She'd simply started serving as her father's adjunct when his health began declining several years ago. Perhaps _Giacomo_ genuinely wanted his daughter to take over the company, but the arrangement was hardly kosher.

Excella spent most of her workday flitting in and out of the office or meeting with people. But even then, Sherry hardly had any time to snoop. There was actual work to do, emails and phone calls to answer. Plus, Carlos usually hung around in adjacent hall, waiting to accompany Excella on her next outing. _Bodyguard? More like a pool boy._

The chance would come, she told herself. A file would come across her desk, or an incriminating message would get forwarded to her inbox. People made mistakes all the time. She just had to wait for Excella to make hers.

At least her surroundings were pleasant. Tricell was headquartered in a sleek modern building not far from the Swiss Stock Exchange in downtown Zurich. Sherry was already familiar with its bright corridors and airy meeting rooms that looked like they were straight out of an interior design magazine. Here, Excella's tacky tastes had to take a back seat to the prosaic corporate world, even in her own office. The suite had ivory walls, blond wood floors and Bauhaus-style furniture. Sherry's desk in the reception area was made of frosted glass—a work of art in and of itself—but its smooth surface was currently cluttered with papers, receipts and unopened mail.

_Yes, it's all about patience,_ Sherry thought as she sat on hold waiting for the restaurant's manager. After she'd straightened out the dinner reservations, she minimized the windows on her computer and looked at the desktop background. It was a striking twilight photo of St. Paul's Cathedral taken from the opposite side of Millennium Bridge.

The thrill of the new had long since worn off and she missed London badly, missed Hyde Park and her piano and all the familiar sites and sounds. The city was the closest thing she had to a home, and its rhythm still clung to her voice and mannerisms. Just looking at the photo reminded Sherry why she was putting up with this in the first place.

The office door flew open and Excella came out, cell phone in hand. "My lawyer in Rome just called. He needs to see the deed to the Lake Como villa."

Sherry sprung to attention. "Oh, I'll go grab it. Where is it?"

"I don't know," she snapped as she strode past Sherry's desk. "I'm late for a board meeting."

"Sorry?"

Excella stopped and rolled her eyes. "I said I don't _know_ where it is. Figure it out. You're my assistant, aren't you?"

* * *

Once Sherry was sure Excella was well out of earshot, she muttered "Wanker," under her breath.

"I've been called worse," Carlos chirped as he strolled in from the hall.

"Oh, hi!" Sherry mustered a nervous laugh as she twisted the pearl ring on her finger. "Do you need something?"

Carlos put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "No, chica. I just thought you looked lonely today."

She blinked at him. "Lonely? Really?" He could be right. After all, Wesker had been gone all week, leaving her alone in the new apartment—a bland, generic space that made her feel like she was living a stranger's life. Though she was still technically in the executive training program, she'd barely seen the three other remaining candidates since moving out of the house in late January. Wesker's work in the lab often kept him late into the night, and her weekends were full of blood tests and body scans that yielded nothing. Sherry submitted to it all, because it was nothing compared to what _could_ happen to her. But despite the rough start to the year, she had to admit that things hadn't been _all_ bad...

Carlos grabbed a spare office chair from the corner of the reception room and sat down across from Sherry, planting his elbows on her desk. "What do you do for fun anyway?" he goaded playfully.

_Wouldn't you like to know_ , Sherry wanted to say. She'd felt a rapport with Carlos that night in the forest, but now he was Excella's pet and Sherry didn't know if she could trust him.

"Why didn't you go with Excella?" she countered.

"She's just downstairs." Carlos leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. "She doesn't need me right now."

"Right." Sherry moved to pick up the stack of papers Excella had dropped, but Carlos was still sitting there, looking at her. He wanted something. _You don't think I look lonely—you think I look vulnerable_. But trust or no trust, it was better if she found out what that thing was. Sherry sat up straighter in her chair. "So, do you like it here?"

"Oh sure, there's nothing better than Central Europe in winter. So dreary and sad. I love it." Carlos cracked a sardonic grin that all but lit up the room. "And this language—everything sounds so dirty in German. Do you know what they call the airport? _Flughafen._ Sounds like something you pay a prostitute to do to you."

Sherry didn't try to stop her laughter, but she wouldn't let herself be charmed.

Carlos bent forward again. "So you _can_ smile. I was starting to wonder."

She stared back at him for a moment, then placed her hands palm-down on her desk. Was it too soon to play her hand? There was only one way to find out. "Do you want to know what really happened that night?" Sherry asked.

His brown eyes brightened. "What? You mean when Hans...?"

"Yes, the night we met." Sherry crossed her legs and picked up a pen. "The truth is, I've had combat training, so I know how to deal with those..." She looked Carlos straight in the eye and tapped the pen against the frosted glass. "those types of situations. Sure, I took a big gamble, but it paid off." _Just like I'm taking a gamble right now._

Carlos rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "My, my, I had no idea you were part of the club."

Sherry favored him with another smile and stood up. With any luck, her little explanation would make it back to Excella. Then maybe the older woman would finally stop worrying about what happened in the clearing. "I'm going down to the cafeteria. Want anything?"

"No, that's all right." As Sherry was almost out the door, Carlos added. "Say, we should go to a shooting range some time. I know a few good ones around here."

Sherry turned her head. "Brilliant, how about next—Jesus!" she shouted as she nearly walked into the tall black shadow in the doorway. "You just about gave me a heart attack!"

"That's the idea, chatelaine: Give heart attacks, don't get them." Wesker still had his long black overcoat and gloves on. Sherry thought she saw a red glimmer behind his sunglasses as he looked her up and down approvingly.

Maybe he didn't care that someone else was in the room with them, but Sherry certainly did and she took a step back. "So how was Dubai?" she asked casually.

"They have too much sand and too much money," Wesker said as he pulled off his gloves. "Luckily I was able to relieve them of some. Money, that it. Where's Excella? Already at the board meeting?"

"Yup, you just missed her," Carlos chimed in.

"Well then, I'd best join her." He nodded at Sherry and turned on his heel.

As Sherry watched him walk down the hall, she remembered the first night in the new apartment. She'd picked at her dinner while Wesker sat at the opposite side of the table, checking email on his laptop. Then as if on cue, they both looked at each other. His expression softened, and without saying a word, Wesker stood up. Then she stood too and the next thing she knew, they were in the new bed, racing towards blessed oblivion. There'd been other nights like that since. Sherry wanted every night to be that way.

_I'm doing this for us, Al. That bitch is useless. Someday, it will be just the two of us again. No fights, no fear, no threats—just us._

"Huh," Carlos said. "Now there's a man who takes what he wants from life. No wonder Excella likes him."

She wheeled around. "Watch it. That's my dad you're talking about." Sherry realized too late that her voice sounded angry, but Carlos brushed her off with a wave of his hand.

"Some people would call that a compliment. And what's up with the nickname? Chat-ah-what? I've never heard it before."

"It means 'beloved,' I think," Sherry lied. But she knew better. It was actually a very old word for mistress. Or slave.

Carlos got up and straightened his suit jacket. "Anyway, you were going to lunch? I think I might be hungry after all."

"Right, yes. Then I have to go on a wild goose chase for some property deed Excella wants." Sherry glanced around the reception room, half-hoping the missing document would just magically appear in front of her. "Maybe it's in her office..." she wondered aloud.

"Oh, she doesn't keep personal stuff like that here. It's all back at her flat." Carlos jabbed a thumb towards the wall as if Excella's apartment was on the other side. "Do you need the keys?"

* * *

" _Metal Gear Solid_ , baby. Don't fail me now," Sean breathed as he stared at the set of keys Sherry had just tossed on the table.

"Actually, I was thinking it's more like _Bourne Identity_ ," Ashwin said as he paused from nervously tapping his teeth.

Bianca leaned in, her eyes wide. "Oh my God, Matt Damon is so hot in those movies."

"The books were better," Ashwin asserted.

Sherry smacked her palm on the table, making everyone jump in their seats. "Focus, people! Focus!" she hissed.

She'd chosen a restaurant on the right bank of the Limmat—the river that bisected Zurich's medieval center—in hopes that no one from Tricell HQ would see them. Still, Sherry felt nervous as she scrutinized the three faces around the table. Along with her, they were the only trainees who'd made the first cut. Now they were under even more pressure to perform.

_I've got to get this sorted_ , she thought. _I've got to make them understand._

Bianca spoke first. "So you're really going to break in, huh?"

"It's not breaking in if you have a key," Sherry replied primly. "Plus I have a cover story—that document she told me to find."

"Still sounds risky," Ashwin murmured as he returned to his plate of half-eaten rösti.

"I dunno, she might pull it off." Sean rubbed his chin thoughtfully and looked at the ceiling. "Back in D.C., I'd get hassled by cops for _walking_ while black." His gaze fell to Sherry's face. "But nobody ever suspects the cute little white girl."

Sherry folded her arms. "I am not cute, and I am definitely _not_ little."

"Yeah you are," Bianca said. "But you're better than this." She motioned to the keys. "Why can't you relax and focus on the long game? You'll catch Excella out in the open."

"She doesn't operate in the open," Sherry tried to explain. "And I've waited long enough. This is the only way I can nail that bitch."

"With what proof?" Bianca shot back.

"Ladies, simmer down," Sean said with a disarming grin. "She's got proof. Right, Sherry?"

Sherry bit her lip and looked down. "Ummm..."

He started at her silently for a moment. When he finally spoke, Sean's voice was frosty. "Not cool. You told me she's stealing money from the company."

"That might be true..." Sherry felt herself beginning to flounder. "Or it might be something else. I _know_ she's dirty, I just need time to—"

"I'm out." Ashwin tossed a wadded-up napkin on his now-empty plate.

"Me too," Bianca said tersely. "Look, we won't snitch on you, but you're asking us to move against the chairman's friggin' daughter with no proof."

Wesker's words on that bleak January morning echoed in Sherry's mind. _When you speak, others listen._

Not this time. The stakes were too high, and the others' futures were still uncertain. They could still be cut from the training program at any point during the year. _I expected too much from them..._

"Sean?" Sherry asked softly without taking her eyes off the keys.

"Sorry," he said. "Come back to us when you have something solid."

Bianca laid her fingers on Sherry's forearm. "Look, I think Excella's terrible too," she began in a consoling tone. "But I'd really like to know: What the hell did she ever do to you?"

"It's 'cause of your dad, I bet," Ashwin said before Sherry could respond. "She'd be the worst stepmom ever, eh?"

Sherry felt a twinge of pain in the small of her back. She'd decided it would be easier if the other trainees thought Wesker and Excella were an item. Everyone else at Tricell HQ already thought the same thing, anyway. Still, she had to give a better reason that plain old jealously. "No, it's because—"

"I know it sucks, but he's a grown man," Bianca said, cutting her off. "So what if it's just about sex? I mean, I _hope_ it's just sex. Because if he has feelings for her? Umm, eww."

Sherry's eyes darted from face to face before frustration got the better of her and she all but shouted, "She thinks she's meant to lead, but she's not. She's just _not_!" People at nearby tables turned to look at them.

"Oops," Sean grimaced.

"Calm down, Scary Sherry." Bianca shoveled some of the food on her plate onto Sherry's. "Here, you hardly ate anything."

"I don't _want_ more..." Sherry closed her eyes and sighed, trying to quiet her nerves. "God, I need some coffee."

"Now, now, Sherry," Sean teased, trying to lighten the mood. "Coffee is for closers."

Her eyes snapped open. "I've seen that movie too. Remember this part?" She stood and leaned across the table, channeling her very best Al Pacino. "Bad people go to hell?" Sherry began, her voice grim and even. "I don't think so. If you think that, act that way. Hell exists on earth?" She grabbed the keys off the tabletop and turned to leave. "Yes, but I won't live in it. That's me."

* * *

Sherry was still fuming as she walked. Yes, there were two worlds, and as much as she wanted to pick one over the other, she had to live in both for now. She'd first understood that the night Krauser hunted her through the mountains.

To the outside world, she showed the face of a charming, guileless young woman. Now, as Sherry headed further west towards Excella's apartment building on Zurichberg hill, she let the guise fall away. She did not need that skin tonight. Her shoulders stiffened and she buried her hands in her coat pockets. Her gait even changed, becoming quick and determined.

She only had to travel a short distance, but it was a cold day so she decided to take the tram. Zurich was such a small city, Sherry had come to realize. Too small for her.

She felt a sudden, strange longing for the portraits in the London townhouse: Umbrella's three heralds, mysterious yet dignified in their ways, framed in burnished gold and surrounded by brimming walnut bookcases. And her.

As Sherry got off the tram and checked the time on her cell phone, she reviewed Excella's schedule in her mind. She was at her father's mansion now, going over documents for the shareholder meeting. Then she and Carlos would head straight to dinner. Sherry wasn't concerned about Wesker coming home and finding her gone; he was on the guest list too.

Before long, she reached Excella's building. She unlocked the first door and stepped into the ground floor vestibule. Sherry pulled on a pair of thin leather gloves and swept her hair into a bun. She moved slowly up the stairs, listening for voices and footsteps. Only silence greeted her.

All the lights were off in the apartment, but there were plenty of windows and the rooms were gently illuminated by the fading daylight outside. Sherry headed towards the study but paused in front of the open bedroom door and looked in. _Where_ does _a woman keep her biggest secrets?_ she mused. _Mine's in the bedroom, that's for sure..._

The room was dominated by a large canopy bed made of carved hardwood. The duvet was rose-colored damask and Sherry couldn't stop herself from imagining Excella lounging against the pillows. She shuddered and allowed herself a little snort of disgust.

_I know one person who'll never get a chance to test drive that mattress—if I have anything to say about._

Then Sherry noticed a magazine lying open on the bed. She checked the cover. It was the European edition of _TIME_. Sherry was impressed. She'd never pegged Excella as much of a reader. She turned back to the article. "Putting Bioterrorists on Notice," the headline read. There was a large photo on the opposite page. It showed a war room-like space full of people, but Sherry recognized a rugged, hard face in the foreground. Chris Redfield.

She'd have time to pick up her own copy later. Sherry left the magazine on the bed and turned to an ornate writing desk that sat against the opposite wall. It had many drawers, none of which were locked, to Sherry's relief. She turned on her trusty Mini Maglite and put it between her teeth. It was a bit hard to sort through the papers with gloves on, but Sherry knew she could take her time. There were some documents in English, some in German and even more in Italian. Sherry squinted as she muddled through what little she knew of the language and realized she was starting at the long-lost property deed. She set the paper aside and kept searching the drawers.

Minutes passed and her frustration mounted. _Damn it, the others were right. I don't even know what I'm looking for. And here's just two copies of the same..._

No, the documents she now held were _not_ quite the same. They were mostly in Italian unfortunately, but Sherry was fairly sure she was looking at a will. She forced herself to read slower until she was certain. Not only was it a will—it was Giacomo Gionne's will. But only one copy was signed.

Sherry put the documents on the carpet and bent over them. Yes, there were differences. Some paragraphs were longer on the unsigned will, and it looked like an unfinished draft compared to the other version. The wording looked different too, though Sherry needed an Italian-English dictionary to know for sure. The word "Tricell" caught her eye on the strange draft copy. Here, a few sentences were written in English. _I direct that my_ c _ontrolling share in Tricell shall be transferred to my daughter..._

Sherry gasped as shock gripped her. _No._

A door opened. She heard Excella's voice.

_No no no no no!_

What was she doing back? She was supposed to be on her way to dinner! Sherry quickly stuffed the wills back in the drawer, grabbed the deed off the floor and sprang to her feet. Now she heard Carlos too. Their voices were coming closer.

There was nowhere to run, no time to think about what she should do. There was only time to act. Sherry switched off her flashlight and dove under the bed like a baseball player sliding for home plate. The bed had a long dust ruffle. Between that and the encroaching darkness, maybe the wouldn't notice her...

"Are you sure we have time?" It was Carlos, sounding bemused.

"Of course," Excella purred. "Besides, I always prefer to be fashionably late."

* * *

Nearly 20 minutes later, Sherry was still huddled under the bed, and silently praying.

_Please make them stop and get dressed and leave and I promise I'll be good for the rest of my life. I'll become a nun and never do anything bad or fun ever again. Just please make them stop!_

They did not stop. Just inches from her head, the squeaking bedsprings kept time. Sherry felt her body grow hot as fear turned to anger.

_What did I ever do to deserve this? Wait, what the hell is that noise she's making? Do_ I _sound like that in bed? Stupid cow. Does he actually like that?_ She waited a beat. _Ugh, I guess he does..._

Sherry could barely move under the bed, but she managed to pull her hands up to he ears. Not that it helped much as Excella's cries rose to a crescendo. They lingered for a few minutes, murmuring words Sherry refused to hear. Then finally she felt their bodies move off the bed and saw feet beneath the edge of the dust ruffle.

"We're really late now," Carlos said, though he didn't sound worried.

Excella laughed. "And wasn't it worth it?"

Sherry squeezed her eyes shut and focused on keeping her breathing low and steady. _A few more minutes...just a few more..._

As soon as she heard the main door shut, Sherry rolled out from under the bed and scrambled to her feet. Her gaze frantically swept the dim room and she realized her clothes were soaked with sweat. _Take the wills? Don't take them? She'll notice if they're gone. Oh God, why didn't I bring a camera? Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

She was panicking now. Somehow, she forced herself to wait a bit longer to make sure Carlos and Excella were really gone. Between barely-stifled sobs, her shaking hands managed to lock the door behind her. All she could see was Excella's name on that piece of paper; all she could hear were the other woman's rapacious moans. _She's going to take everything..._

Only much later, as she got off the tram near her apartment, did Sherry realize that she had the deed folded up in her coat pocket. She pictured the sneer Excella would give her Monday morning when she handed it to her. _What took you so long, my dear?_

* * *

Sherry woke from her nightmare to the sound of her cell phone beeping. She'd fallen asleep on the couch and found herself in the snowy clearing again. She saw the dying dog sprawled in her lap. Only it wasn't the dog. It was Wesker, horribly wounded and barely breathing. She smelled the infection in him, and Krauser's knife was in her hand, ready and waiting...

Sherry sat up and grabbed her phone off the coffee table. There was a text message from Sean. _R U home?_

_Yes, I just got here_ , she replied. It was still early in the evening and she knew Wesker would be back late. Just as well. She needed time to pull herself together and figure out what do next. _Should I tell Al what I did? Should I tell him I know..?_

Sherry grabbed the sides of her head and groaned. She'd been too impulsive, gotten too excited when Carlos handed her the keys, and now she was saddled with knowledge she couldn't even use. Who would care if Excella was sleeping with her bodyguard? Women like her were supposed to do that.

The two wills. That was her best angle—her only angle— _if_ she could get anyone to believe her.

Sherry staggered into the bedroom and replaced her sweat-stained clothes with a pair of pajama pants and her favorite black zip-up sweater from Wesker's closet. She was too tired to bother putting a camisole on underneath. Next came the bottle of pinot noir in the kitchen. Sherry was swallowing the first long draught from her glass when the doorbell rang.

She went to the entryway and pressed the intercom button. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's Sean. Bianca gave me your address. Can I come up?"

* * *

Sherry decided a streamlined version of events was better—anything to avoid thinking about what she'd heard while hiding under that bed. She poured another glass of wine and handed it to Sean. "Excella showed up right after I found the wills. I hid in the closet and got the hell out as soon as it was safe."

"Jesus Christ, Sherry! Promise me you won't pull this thug life bullshit again." There was real worry in his voice, real concern, but all Sherry wanted was his cooperation.

She sat down next to Sean on the couch and crossed her legs. "No, I have to try again. If I really saw what I think I saw..." She gave her wineglass a quick swirl. In the small living room's low light, the red liquid almost looked like something else. Sherry turned and looked Sean straight in the eye. "It means Giacomo doesn't really want her to take over Tricell. That's why she's trying to forge his will." She paused, but Sean didn't say anything. "You believe me, right?" Sherry pressed.

"I do," he began carefully. "But this is too big for you to handle alone. Tricell is the Global Pharmaceuticals Consortium's poster child for ethics. A lot of people are gonna want to know about this. A _lot_."

Sherry cocked her head. _Poster child for ethics? So why did Al choose them..?_

Sean sighed as he set his wineglass on the coffee table. "Look, I haven't been totally straight with you. My dad lobbies for the Consortium in D.C., so I get to hear a few things other people don't."

"Wait, what?" She gripped her glass harder and felt the wine slosh inside. The familiar ache at the base of her spine hit her. It was almost like it was telling her to...run? But Sherry made herself take another sip of wine instead and stayed put.

"Yeah, that's kinda why I stuck up for you with the others." Sean gave the back of his neck a self-conscious rub. "I know what it's like when people think you owe everything to your connections. But that brings me to the really hard question." Sean leaned towards her and spread one hand on her knee. "Do you think your dad is involved in this?"

The ache in her back rose and spread, but still Sherry did not move. "I don't think so," she said as steadily as she could.

Sean shook his head. She felt his hand squeeze her knee. "Really? Do you even know what he's doing here?" He didn't let her reply. "That's the funny thing: _nobody_ knows. It's some hush-hush pet project for Excella. And no one knows anything about him, either. It's like he just appeared out of thin air one day. That's _not_ how things are supposed to work around here. Something's happening, and people are saying it started around the time your dad showed up."

Sherry shifted her leg under his grasp and put her own glass down. "Just what are you implying?" she asked, her voice dropping low.

"You don't want an evil stepmother. I get that, I really do," Sean said kindly. "But if you're not gonna let this grudge go, you have to be ready for the consequences. That could mean—"

Sherry sprung to her feet. "Are you asking me to betray my own father?" she shouted.

"Wait, hear me out!" Sean stood up too, reaching for her with a wide, open palm. "You know he threatened me, right? Last month when we were at Excella's?"

Sherry blinked. "What? What did he...?"

"I tried to talk to him about us," he said gravely.

"You did _what_?" she exploded.

But Sean stayed clam. "Y'know, most dads appreciate it when a man is up-front, but I'm lucky I walked away with my head still attached."

Sherry shuddered as a pair of red eyes appeared in her mind. _You don't know how right you are..._

"Come here, you're shaking like a leaf." Sean put his arms around her and drew her against his chest. Sherry was too tired and upset to resist. She rested her cheek against his shoulder and sighed. For what it was worth, it felt good.

"You can't tell anyone about this," she whispered without looking up.

She heard Sean snicker. "Which part?"

"Any of it. All of it."

Sean pushed her back to arm's length but kept his hands on her shoulders. "Why don't you move back to the house?" he said. "Get away from all this crazy tension. And we won't have to sneak around like this any more."

Sherry bit her lip. "I...I don't know..."

"Come on," he prodded. "It feels so empty with just three people. We're going stir crazy. Ashwin made us watch _Kuch Kuch Hota Hai_ last night. Again. And..." Sean's dark eyes searched her face for a moment. "And I miss you," he said softly.

"You don't understand," Sherry said, feeling a lump rising in her throat. "So many things have happened to us—to my dad and I. I'm all he has left. _He's_ all _I_ have left."

Sean's expression hardened. "So that means you'll never live your own life?"

Sherry could feel his disappointment, feel him slipping away. _No, no, I need you on my side!_ But she didn't know what to say any more. She didn't know what to do.

Maybe the Red Princess would know what to do. _But I'm not her._ Then a strange, thrilling notion came to her. _I'm not her_ yet _._

Sherry grabbed the collar of Sean's shirt and yanked him close for a long, deep kiss. She pulled back for a moment to catch her breath. Sherry saw the flash of his smile before his arms enveloped her and he kissed her back—hard. She suddenly felt very small.

_Just pretend he's not Sean. Pretend he's..._

But his touch was so different from what she was used to, so much lighter and playful. He even smelled different. She felt Sean's fingers move to her neck, then they slid down to her sweater's zipper. With one quick motion, he unzipped it to the middle of her chest.

Sherry pulled away and turned her head. "I can't do this. I'm sorry." She stepped back and looked down at the floor. "You should leave," she said, her voice breaking.

He stared at her for a moment, then grabbed his coat off the back of the couch. "Okay, if that's what you want. But I'm not giving up on you yet," Sean said firmly. "Believe _that_."

* * *

It was nearly midnight when the front door opened and a familiar shadow appeared next to the couch. "You didn't have to wait up for me," Wesker said.

"Oh, hi!" Sherry hit the TV remote's power button and looked up at him. "I wasn't singing along to the 'Toxic' music video just now. Nope, you must've been seeing things."

He picked the empty wine bottle up off the coffee table. "Been busy, I see."

"I had. The worst day. _Ever_." Sherry sighed and pushed a loose strand of hair out of her face. "So how was dinner?"

"As pleasant as it could be, considering who I had to sit next to." Wesker grinned as he turned the empty bottle over in his hand. "You probably had a better time getting drunk here in the dark."

"I am _not_ drunk. I'm not eating Nutella out of the jar yet." Sherry lurched to her feet and steadied herself on the couch's armrest. "Wait—that's actually a good idea!" She started toward the living room's narrow doorway, but Wesker blocked her path.

"You need to get some rest. You have a PET scan tomorrow."

"Why bother?" Sherry grumbled. "You're not going to find anything."

"We won't know that until—" Wesker began as she tried to side-step him, but the floor seemed to shift under her feet. Sherry rocked backwards but caught herself against the couch.

"Woah! Oops..." She let out a manic giggle and looked up at Wesker through the strands of hair falling across her eyes. "You know what the nuns at my old school used to tell me? 'Sherry Anne, you know the truth in your mind but not your heart!'"

He sighed and set the bottle down. "And what truth would that be?"

"I called the dogs."

"Sherry, we have been over this. That's impossible." Wesker quickly walked around the coffee table and sat down on the couch. He took off his sunglasses and motioned to Sherry. "Now come here and sit down before you fall down."

Wesker let out a grunt as she collapsed onto him, straddling his lap and throwing her arms around his shoulders. "I suppose that qualifies," he said crossly. Sherry ignored him and pressed her cheek against the collar of his coat. It smelled like damp wool and cold air but mostly it smelled like _him_.

The words seemed to tumble out on their own. "Excella is..."

Then Sherry remembered what Sean said and stopped herself. _Do you think your dad is involved in this?_ Who could she trust now? Could she trust anyone?

"Nothing I do is ever good enough for her!" Sherry whined. "She hates me now and I can't change that. I'm trying but I _can't_." She heard Wesker chuckle under his breath and summoned the strength to lift her head. "Hey, it's not funny!" she snapped.

"I'm afraid it is. Not so long ago, Excella was the one trying to win _you_ over." Wesker put one hand on her back. "It may be hard now, but someday you'll look back on this and laugh. I suffered fools for years before I finally had my chance to act. And then..." He bared his teeth in a parody of a smile. "I never looked back."

Sherry smiled weakly at him, then laid her head against the side of his neck and drank in the scent of his skin under his clothes. It drowned out the memory of Excella's moans and the taste of Sean's mouth, leaving only the two of them. The only people in the world. "But how do you do this every day?" she asked. "How do you pretend to be normal?"

Sherry felt his shoulders shrug under her hands. "That's all you were doing before: pretending to be normal. You simply didn't realize it. The lie is for everyone else's benefit, but you always know who you are underneath. Now then..." Wesker's weight shifted and arms she knew well lifted her up, carrying her to the other side of the apartment like a sleepy child.

"We'll see how you feel in the morning, but I suppose the scan can wait," he said as he laid her on the bed. Sherry's eyelids were already drooping but she forced herself to focus on the shadow hovering over her.

_It can wait...it can usually wait..._ He'd once said the same thing about revenge. But she heard unease in Wesker's voice, and weariness too. Out of the corner of her eye, Sherry saw him take off his coat and start to roll up his sleeves.

"I'm sorry," she murmured into her pillow.

"For what? Just exercise more self control next time." He shut the door behind him.

_No, I'm sorry for all the things I'm not brave enough to ask you...and all the things I can't tell you._ Maybe someday they'd lay all their secrets on the table. But not tonight. Not tonight.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

_Just what we all need  
More lies about a world that  
Never was and never will be  
Have you no shame? _

_Don't you see me?  
You know you've got everybody fooled_

_-"Everybody's Fool," Evanescence_

* * *

_March 7, 2005_

_Zurich_

It was 7am on the day of Tricell's annual shareholder meeting and Excella was already on the warpath. "The dress was delivered last night and it is _not_ fuchsia," she said without glancing up from her cell phone. "Didn't Adrianna take the order?"

Sherry had been staring out the car window but now turned to Excella, bleary-eyed. "I...I didn't see her when I went to the store," she replied. "It was a different clerk."

Excella's head shot up. "I specifically requested _fuchsia_!" she snapped. "The dress is coral _at best_!"

Sherry avoided the older woman's gaze as she pulled a notepad and pen out of her purse. "Right, I'll take it back first thing tomorrow," she said.

Excella wrinkled her nose. "You'd better. I need it for my anniversary with you father this week."

Sherry blinked. "Your...what?" She glanced at the back of Carlos's head in front of her, but he was talking softly to the driver.

"The anniversary of the day we met, one year ago. He didn't tell you?" Excella's smile was anything but kind.

Sherry just looked down at the blank pad and scribbled a note about returning the dress. _And I fucked him last night. He didn't tell_ you _?_

Excella let out an exaggerated sigh as the car pulled to a stop in front of the Swissôtel Zürich's convention center. "Good, we're here. Name tag?"

Sherry handed her the piece of laminated plastic just as Carlos came around to open the door. Without another word, Excella sprung out of the back seat. Sherry followed at a distance and pulled her own name tag out of her purse as she walked, trying to ignore the morning air's biting chill.

And which face would she be wearing today? Ah yes, the dutiful daughter, long-suffering executive assistant and certified pretty young thing. Sometimes she missed the simple life of Sherry Trevor, the girl who grew up in London and loved to play the piano and jog. And all that remained of Sherry Birkin was the locket around her neck. But today she was most definitely Sherry Wesker.

She trailed Excella and Carlos up a curved staircase like a shadow. The older woman was the very picture of propriety in an elegant white overcoat with her inky hair twisted up behind her head. _She looks like a queen_ , Sherry mused. _Or someone who thinks she's a queen._

They reached a lobby area where the catering staff was setting up a breakfast buffet and several Tricell employees busied themselves around tables that were covered with rows of name tags. Within an hour, the conference center would be filled with hundreds of Tricell investors—people who knew nothing about the secret labs or that bloody night in the forest or the mysterious contractor who spent so much time with the chairman's daughter. No, today was all about image.

"If anyone needs me, I'll be with the events director in the ballroom. You can stay out here," Excella said curtly before she and her bodyguard vanished behind a set of double doors. Bianca looked up from one of the tables and beckoned to Sherry.

"How goes it?" Bianca asked.

"Oh you know, the usual: spreading ill will and discontent." She set her purse and coat down behind one of the tables and quickly scanned the lobby for Sean. To her relief, she didn't see him.

"Nice." Bianca held out a box of name tags. "Here, they're already in alpha order. Start on that table."

They worked in silence for a few minutes before Bianca spoke up. "So spring's finally right around the corner. There's all these great music festivals coming up, and we've barely hit up the clubs in Kreis 5."

"I'm kind of over clubbing," Sherry said flatly without looking up from the row of tags she was arranging.

"Figures." Bianca rolled her eyes. "Scary Sherry only cares about one thing. How's your little side-project going, anyway?"

Sherry glanced around again before answering. "No progress."

"Maybe you can ask your secret boyfriend for help," she muttered slyly.

Sherry let the box of name tags drop to the table. " _What_ did you say?"

"Umm, we were roomies, remember?" Bianca sidled up to Sherry, her voice dropping low. "I know you're on the Pill. And when I came back from Christmas break, our room totally smelled like a guy. _And_ you're obviously never going to seal the deal with Sean, so..."

Sherry was too shocked to deny it. " _No one_ can know," she rasped.

"Geez, don't worry. Like I would ever tell Sean or your—oh, speak of the devil."

Sherry turned around and saw a tall figure in a long black coat walking towards them—fast.

"Where is Excella? I need to speak to her immediately." Wesker said when he reached them. He shifted the briefcase he was carrying from one gloved hand to the other and turned to Bianca. "Would you excuse us?"

"You don't have to ask me twice." Bianca gave Sherry an uneasy look before she walked away.

"Excella's micromanaging in the ballroom." Sherry put her hands on her hips and stared into the mirrored lenses that hid his eyes. "And _you're_ not supposed to be here."

"Sherry," Wesker began tersely.

"Yes, Daddy?" she shot back.

A door opened behind them. "Albert! I told you to stay away today!" Excella trilled as she strode over with Carlos hot on her heels. "We can't let anyone see you—"

"God damn it, woman!" he hissed in Excella's face. "Has it occurred to any of you that I might not be here to crash the buffet?"

* * *

Carlos made a brave attempt at small talk as Wesker pulled some folders out of his briefcase. "Y'know, I never asked: Just where are you from?"

"If you must know, I grew up in Boston but I left when I was 17," Wesker replied without looking up.

"Oh yeah? I've met a few people from South Boston. Fun guys."

Wesker frowned. "That's Southie. Totally different. As different as...well, you and I."

They'd relocated to a smaller meeting room off the conference center's lobby and were now clustered at one end of a long table. Excella stood with her hands clasped in front of her, watching Wesker intently. And Sherry was watching her. _Carlos isn't enough for you after all? You still want to take him, too?_

"One of our B.O.W. researchers disappeared last night, along with some incriminating files," Wesker said as he handed manila folders to each of them in turn. Sherry flipped her folder open and immediately recognized the photo inside. It was one of the scientists from the secret lab outside Zurich. "We believe he fled to his home city in northern Poland. You'll be taking the train instead of flying in case we get new intel and you have to change direction," he said to Carlos.

"We can't let a local asset handle this?" Carlos asked, suddenly all business.

"Too sensitive," Wesker replied sharply. "Your train leaves in an hour. Retrieve the files and neutralize the target, not necessarily in that order."

"You're the best man for the job." Excella shot Carlos a smile that Sherry knew was more than merely polite. Then Excella turned to her and the smile faded. "And of course, Sherry's my assistant, so I know she wants to help any way she can. Don't you, my dear?"

* * *

"Your first time on this side of the old Iron Curtain, chica?"

"Yes, actually," Sherry said as she gazed at the gray and white countryside outside the train's window. "I had no idea it would be so...bleak." This was not the Europe she knew. The towns they passed through were smaller and more run-down than she was used to. Winter's grip still held strong here, and the other people on the train were bundled up in bulky coats with their faces hidden under scarves and hats.

"It's a lot better than it was 20 years ago," Carlos said solemnly. "You should've seen it then. It takes a long time to come back from Communism. A long time." The heaviness in his voice took Sherry by surprise.

She'd grown even more suspicious of Carlos since that regrettable afternoon in Excella's apartment. Every time Sherry looked at him, those disgusting sounds replayed in her mind. He and Excella were living a lie—a lie not so different from one Sherry knew all too well—though to what end, she could only guess. And yet Carlos was always so relaxed. He didn't even ask if she'd found the missing deed when she returned the keys. _Is he really that confident or just oblivious?_

"Where are you from?" she said, feeling a sudden urge to pry.

"A little bit of everywhere," Carlos replied with a shrug. "And some places I'd rather forget."

Something in his tone told Sherry it was better to change the subject. "I can't believe Excella doesn't mind you being away. We have no idea how long we're going to be here."

"This will take two, maybe three days max," Carlos said as he pulled out a cell phone and slid off the back casing to pop in a fresh SIM card. "And she'll be okay without me. She's a big girl."

Sherry cocked an eyebrow. _Right. And I suppose you and Excella were just playing rock-paper-scissors on that bed. Not bloody likely._

"But..." she stopped herself and blushed. Sherry wanted the scream, _She's just using you! She's going to take everything!_

He looked up at her quizzically. "Chica, you okay?"

_No, I am_ not _okay. You don't need my help to find your target or those files and I'm only here so she can have Al all to herself._

"I'm fine," Sherry lied neatly. Then she asked, "Have you ever done anything like this before?"

Carlos looked out at the gray land rolling past. "I've done a lot of things," he said softly.

* * *

The language around them turned Slavic as the train moved further north. People started giving them odd looks when they heard her and Carlos speaking English, so Sherry spent the remainder of the trip staring silently out the window. She daydreamed about the Pyrenees. Maybe she'd go back there this summer and try to find the little stone farmhouse again. Maybe, if she asked nicely, Wesker would come with her.

It was late by the time the train deposited them in a city near the Baltic Sea. They checked into a small hotel in the old medieval quarter. Carlos sat down at their room's desk and turned on the laptop they'd brought with them while Sherry settled into one of the twin beds. She rolled onto her side, feeling strangely unmoored without the weight of a body beside her, and found her thoughts wandering to Excella's stupid fuchsia dress. _She'll take everything unless I stop her. But how will I know the time is_ _right...?_

Just before Sherry drifted off to sleep, she heard Carlos say, "Good, he's here."

* * *

In the morning, they walked past shiny new shopping malls and soot-stained churches and flower stalls on street corners, silently scanning every face they saw. They stopped at a souvenir store and Carlos bought a pair of amber earrings shaped like teardrops.

"She likes Cartier better," Sherry said, guessing who they were for.

"Maybe she'll like them because they're from me," was all he said.

Carlos' cell phone rang as they left the shop. He picked up without saying hello and listened for a moment, his face blank. "A local operative has a confirmed sighting," Carlos told her when the call ended.

"We still have to take care of it?" Sherry asked, but he was already walking away down a narrow cobblestone street. An immense brick church loomed at the end. Carlos knocked the slush from his boots before he walked in. Sherry watched him dip his fingers in the nearest holy water font and cross himself.

She followed suit and Carlos looked over at her, stunned. "You're part of _this_ club, too?"

Sherry just smiled. _I can keep you guessing too, you know._

The church's interior was stark white, and there were ancient paintings, plaques and statues everywhere. Quite a few people milled about, but the only sound in the huge building was the occasional echo of footsteps. Sherry was looking at a painted altar piece of the Last Judgement when Carlos tugged at her coat sleeve. "There," he whispered.

She looked across the aisle and saw a man standing alone at the foot of a statue of the Virgin Mary. He turned his head to nod at another group of people walking by. Sherry recognized his drooping mustache and sad eyes even from this distance. She remembered him from that day in the lab as he walked down that long corridor with the other researchers, hanging on Wesker's every nod, every frown...

Sherry turned away. Just now, she could've sworn a shadow had passed in front on her face.

* * *

It was dark again when they watched the scientist cross a busy street and walk into a walled park.

Carlos clucked his disapproval. "What is he _doing_? He should stick to crowded areas."

"You honestly think he's done something like this before?" Sherry said indignantly as she tossed her empty soda bottle in a garbage can.

They'd been tailing him all afternoon and as far as they could tell, he hadn't noticed them yet. It reminded Sherry of how she and Jack used to track animals. But that was just a dress rehearsal. Now, under the yellow light of street lamps and slowly-falling snowflakes, she and Carlos stepped through black iron gates and onto a snow-covered promenade lined with tall trees.

The park was nearly deserted on this frigid night. Maybe the scientist knew it well and was using it as a shortcut. Maybe he felt comfortable here. Maybe he'd seen them and wanted to die.

_It doesn't matter_ , Sherry angrily reminded herself. _Just finish the mission and I can go..._

She caught herself thinking of London, thinking of that damnable word "home."

She gritted her teeth as they brushed past another couple walking in the opposite direction. Carlos quickened his pace, moving in front of her. Sherry saw him glance quickly over his shoulder as he pulled something out of his pocket. He nodded back at her. It was like his face was made of stone. _The best man for the job..._

Sherry blinked and the next thing she knew, Carlos was dragging the man into some bushes. She dashed over, heedless of anyone else who might come down the path, and followed them into the brush. There were muted noises of a struggle somewhere in front of her. She heard labored grunts and gasps and the sound of feet kicking against snow—but no shouts. Sherry let a pine bough fall back into place behind her and saw that Carlos had pulled the man into a kind of bower. They were shielded from the main path by a stand of trees and some large bushes. Sherry stood silently now and watched Carlos struggle with the man laid out before him.

Carlos was on his knees, practically sitting in the scraggly, bare bush behind him. The scientist was on his back but struggling to get up. He clawed at his throat and Sherry saw Carlos' hands were locked behind the man's head. Carlos was yanking at something...

_A garotte_ , Sherry realized. She tried not to look at the man's pleading eyes or his mouth that hung open in a silent scream. This was different from the night she killed the dogs. They were animals—sick ones, at that—and she'd been in control. But this...this was just awful. Sherry tried not to think of his name, but it leapt into her mind all the same. _Wojtek. his name is Wojtek. Carlos is killing Wojtek._

Carlos's expression remained still, and Sherry hoped her face looked just as calm. Soon, the scientist stopped kicking. But Carlos did not twist the ligature, did not torture the man needlessly, and instead ended him quite gently, the same way Sherry liked to end her songs.

* * *

Sherry's fingers curled around a piece of plastic in the man's jacket pocket and she pulled out a silver flash drive. A business card fell onto the snow too. She grabbed it and shoved both items into her own coat pocket. She was fairly sure Carlos didn't notice. He was doubled over in the snow now, panting from exertion—or maybe from the horror of what he'd just done? He looked up at her and his face was as blank as ever. _No, just exhaustion,_ Sherry decided.

"The car," Carlos said. "Pull up to that gate and pop the trunk."

She nodded and turned to rejoin the path. They'd parked the rental car a few blocks away—a short but strangely arduous trek through the outside world. Sherry forced herself to go away inside and switched to auto-pilot. Somehow, she found the car and drove it to the park entrance.

Carlos was nowhere to be seen, so she switched on the car's dome light and pulled out the business card. There was a round blue logo on one side, emblazoned with four red letters: B.S.A.A. She didn't recognize the name on the other side, but saw an address in London. Maybe they'd be interested in Excella's antics...

Just then, she registered movement out of the corner of her eye. Two men had just walked out from under the park's iron gate. One was leaning heavily on the other as if he were drunk or hurt. Then Sherry saw it was actually Carlos carefully dragging along the scientist's corpse.

She fumbled to find the dashboard trunk release and realized her blood was pounding in her ears. _No, don't think about Raccoon City! Don't think about Mom and Dad!_

In the falling snow and low light, the upright dead man had nearly looked like something else.

* * *

It was hard to stop the laptop from bouncing on her knees as Carlos drove the car a little too fast down a country road. They were outside the city now, and Sherry could only assume Carlos knew where he was going. She slid the recovered jump drive into the computer's USB port and did her best to read its contents without getting carsick.

"What the hell is this? Ur...Uro...I can't even say it."

"Are they the files?" Carlos asked without taking his eyes off the road.

She closed the laptop and wrenched around to put it in the car's back seat. "Yeah, I think so."

"Good," he said. "Now we just have to figure out who he was going to sell the intel to."

"That's not our job," Sherry said firmly. "Leave that to Excella and my dad." She shoved her hand into her coat pocket and nervously thumbed the business card.

It was well past midnight when they pulled up to a small lake. The laptop and jump drive went into Sherry's backpack and the car went into the water. They watched it sink under the beams of their flashlights. Carlos had a map and they soon found their way back to the main road. By dawn, they were at the nearest town's train station, waiting for the first express of the day.

* * *

"There's only two things to do after a night like that," Carlos asserted as he twisted open his fourth bottle of beer. "Make love to a beautiful woman or get righteously drunk. Preferably both, but this will have to do." He'd put away the cold face from the night before and was back to his usual jovial self. But now he made Sherry more nervous than ever. He had two selves, just like her. Which one was the real Carlos, she didn't know.

After returning to the city and reporting back to Excella, they'd wandered into a Mexican restaurant to kill time before their flight back to Zurich. It was a kitschy place geared toward tourists. Carlos quickly pronounced the food to be pathetic, but the loud music inside helped mask their conversation.

Sherry clinked the neck of her beer bottle against his but didn't drink. Maybe his guard was finally down and she could get some answers out of him. "What, _I'm_ not beautiful?" she asked, feigning a wounded pout.

" _You_ are off-limits." Carlos gave her a clandestine wink. "You're papi's perfect little pearl, no matter what you do. No man will ever be good enough for you in his eyes."

"What about Excella? Does her dad think there's any man good enough for her?"

Carlos chuckled and shook his head. "Oh, you are good, chica. You are _good_."

"And you're in love with her," Sherry said flatly.

He grinned and reached for the bowl of tortilla chips that sat between them. "Sure, parts of me are in love with her."

Sherry grabbed his hand before it could reach its goal and looked Carlos straight in the eye. "Why even bother?" she pressed. "You bought her a souvenir; my father can buy her the world."

Carlos slipped out of her grip with a flick of his wrist. "The world can be an awfully lonely place. Money can't fix that." His voice had a cold edge again. "You'll understand someday, when some man finally makes you smile for real."

Her indignation was genuine this time. " _Excuse_ me?" Sherry blurted.

"It's your eyes," Carlos said with a wag of his finger. "Even when you smile, they stay sad. So that makes your smile sad, too. A man sees something like that and he can't help himself. He needs to know _why._ Men will follow a smile like that. Maybe even die for it."

Sherry felt like her face was turning the same color as the red tablecloth. So she'd been wrong about Carlos. He really _was_ that confident. And dangerous.

"Must be the Irish in me. My mother's maiden name was Murphy," she finally managed to say, softening her tone. "Look, I promise I won't tell anyone what you said about her—I mean, about how you..."

Carlos just smiled and started to peel the label off his beer bottle. "That's okay, chica. As if anyone would believe you anyway."

* * *

Sherry held her breath and let her head sink under the warm water. Her hair floated up around her face, along with the sweat and grime of the mission. Rattled and numb, she needed sleep badly, but a bath was all she'd been able to think about on the plane. When she sat up in the tub and pushed the hair out of her eyes, she saw Wesker hunting around in one of the bathroom cabinets.

"I hear things went well," he said. Sherry didn't respond. "It was a good experience for you. Our work isn't always confined to offices and labs." He finally located a box of contact lenses and turned to the mirror above the sink. "You may be called on to do something like that again, especially after the year is out."

"Great. Brilliant," Sherry muttered at his back.

Wesker turned and walked to the side of the bathtub with a look that passed for concern on his face. "I would never send you somewhere I could not find you." He leaned over and brushed aside the wet hair plastered against her neck, finding the small bump behind her ear with his fingertips.

Sherry cringed inwardly and looked at the white tiled wall. "I need a vacation. Can we go home for a few days?"

His hand fell away and he stood up straight. "Why are you so obsessed with that word?" Wesker sounded irritated. "There is no such thing. Calling something 'home' is practically a guarantee it will be taken away from you."

Sherry looked up at him now. "How would you know?"

"I just _know_." He turned back to the sink. "Anyway, now we have to figure out who he was going to sell the research to."

Sherry thought about the business card now hidden at the bottom of her sock drawer along with Jack's combat knife. Suddenly, she wanted to fight. "Are you sure he wanted to sell it?" she asked cattily. "Maybe he was going to rat you out."

"Why would you think that?" That same hint of annoyance again. He was not in the mood to be challenged tonight. _Well that's just too bad._

"What is Urobouros?"

Wesker set down the box of tinted lenses on the sink countertop but did not turn around. "You were supposed to retrieve the files, not read them." Then he said, "It's an idea—an idea that may just work. Don't concern yourself with it right now."

"Like I'm not supposed to concern myself with Giacomo's will?" she demanded.

In an instant, he was looming over her, gripping either side of the tub so she couldn't get out. "What. Did. You. _See?_ " Wesker shouted in her face.

Sherry shrank back for a moment, then lifted her chin to meet his searing gaze. "I'm Excella's assistant," she said. "I see lots of things. Did you think I wouldn't?"

"No, I just thought you'd be more discreet," he snarled. "And I thought Excella would do a better job of concealing my plan."

Sherry felt goosebumps rise on her skin, even the parts that were underwater. "Your... _your_ plan?" she stammered. She'd been so focused on Excella that she completely missed what was happening on the other side of her own bed. Of _course_ Wesker was involved.

"Yes, my plan." Wesker was talking fast now, his voice an angry barrage. "Her father's giving her free reign for now, but he has no intention of letting her take over the company. He knows she's not ready. We have no choice but to alter his will and bribe the board to look the other way."

"Forge his will, you mean," Sherry shot back as she tried to sit up straighter in the tub. "Why do you want to control a company known for its ethics anyway?"

Wesker let out a short, contemptuous laugh. "That's simple: No one will ever suspect them." He flexed his fingers against the bath's porcelain sides. "Is there anything else you'd like to inform me of, chatelaine?"

For a second, Sherry considered telling him about Carlos and Excella, then she remembered the stony look on Carlos's face. No, it was too risky. Besides, she had something better. "Yesterday, I helped kill a man on your orders," Sherry said as calmly as she could. "But I'm not the one you're taking to dinner tonight, am I?"

His red eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Just what are you saying?"

Sherry folded her arms over her bare breasts. "This thing with Giacomo's will..." she began scornfully. "It's so clear now: Excella is your equal, not me."

Water sloshed across the floor as Wesker yanked her out of the tub by her shoulders. Sherry shouted in protest as she nearly tripped over the side. Then her feet found the floor as he pinned her against the bathroom door.

Wesker's teeth were bared in a furious sneer. "You take that back _now_!"

"Take it back?" Sherry almost laughed. "What are you, four years old?" His grip on her upper arms tightened but that just made her madder. "Cut it out already," she spat. "You're going to be late for your anniversary."

"Fine," Wesker hissed as her let her go and stepped back. "Get out of my way."

Sherry hovered in front of the door, glaring at him. He was ready for a night out, all right: black pants and a black shirt and no doubt a black silk tie and black suit jacket waiting in the other room. And here she was, naked and dripping wet, shoulders smarting from where he'd grabbed her and still raw from a murder committed in his name. But _she_ was supposed to get out of _his_ way?

Sherry lunged forward, grabbed the collar of his shirt with both hands and yanked hard. Black buttons scattered across the tiles. Wesker grabbed her again and swung her around. The back of her legs collided with the bathroom counter's marble edge and Sherry let out a yelp of pain, but it was instantly smothered by his mouth.

Little plastic bottles, toothbrushes and makeup compacts clattered to the floor as Sherry slid onto the countertop's wide end and wrapped her legs around his waist. She pulled fiercely at the black clothes that stood between her and the man she suddenly needed badly. There was no more preamble; the argument had been their foreplay.

She cried out again as their bodies slammed together. There was something savage in his rhythm tonight, as if Wesker wanted to consume her. It was the same wounded anger she'd seen back in January. He seized her hips and pulled her against him, moving with a ferocity that soon began to hurt.

"It's too much...I can't..." Sherry panted as her head rolled back against the surface of the mirror.

"Oh no you _don't_." Wesker's voice was a feral snarl in her ear. "Take it all. Take all of it..."

His growl rose to a primal cry as the rush took them both to the edge and then over it. She felt his fingers digging into her skin and for a split second, he was hers and hers alone.

The cold tile floor was a shock to her bare feet when she finally slipped off the countertop. Still gasping for air, Sherry found the edge of the tub with her hand and gingerly sunk to her knees. She glance over at the pair of legs next to her and realized she was grinning.

But Wesker gaped at his wet, ruined clothes as if he'd just come out of a trance. "Do you have _any_ idea how much this shirt..." He trailed off and plucked his discarded belt and the box of contacts from the floor. "Do not tell anyone what you told me tonight," he said as he made for the door. "It could ruin everything."


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

_There's a hole in my soul like a cavity  
Seems like the world is out to gather just by gravity  
The wheel keeps turning_

_The sky's rearranging  
Look, my son!  
The weather is changing  
_

_-"Hymn of the Big Wheel," Massive Attack_

* * *

_May 24, 2006_

"Hey, Scary. Just the person I was looking for."

"Hi, Ashwin," Sherry groaned as she looked up from her computer. Much to her dismay, Bianca's nickname had stuck, but Ashwin liked to dispense with the "Sherry" part and went straight to the "Scary."

He walked through the doorway and Sherry noticed he had a laptop tucked under his long arm. "When did you get back?" Ashwin asked.

"Last night. Late," she replied with a sigh. "And now I have a whole month's worth of expenses to file, so if you need something..." Although she'd technically ceased her duties as Excella's assistant last December, Sherry still used the suite's reception area as her de facto office whenever she was in Zurich. She grabbed the next slip of paper off the pile of receipts. "Wait, _how_ many times did I eat doner kebab last week? Jesus, I need to go to the gym."

Ashwin chuckled awkwardly and set down his laptop. "So my boss wants to know if your, ah, department's Q1 report is going to be ready, you know, ever," he said hesitantly.

Sherry had to stop herself from pulling a face. His boss was Tricell's CFO. Ashwin was handpicked to serve as his deputy after graduating from the executive training program last year. The two others had passed muster too. Bianca was happily ensconced in the company's marketing department, while Sean scored a position in government relations. Sherry rarely saw any of them due to her own work schedule, and maybe that was for the best.

Much had changed since last year's strange, heady winter. She finally understood that her hatred for Excella had blinded her. She'd let outsiders get too close to her secrets and nearly paid the price. Now Sherry knew two things for certain: Her goal of destroying Excella was still a long way off, and she might have to act alone.

Of course the alliances she'd laid down with her fellow trainees and other Tricell employees could still pay off, but for now she was preoccupied—and, Sherry had to admit, not unhappily. She was officially a contractor now, just like Wesker, and earning money for the first time in her life. The black Yves Saint Laurent suit and red-soled pumps she wore today were all her own. Yes, much had changed...

"Take a seat," Sherry said said as she dropped the receipt and moved her mouse to open up another program. "I think I can get you some preliminary figures."

"Preliminary?" Ashwin balked. "It's almost June. You know this makes your dad look bad, right?"

"He's a 'big picture' guy," she deadpanned. _Almost June_... She would be 20 in a few weeks—or 24, as far as everyone at Tricell knew.

Ashwin sat down and tapped a forefinger on the frosted glass desk. "And I'm a numbers guy."

"I know, hold on." Her eyes didn't move from the computer screen.

A few moments passed before Ashwin leaned forward and changed the subject. "So we're all going out Friday night. You should come too." He paused. "Sean's bringing his new girlfriend."

Sherry's fingers fell still on the keyboard. "Oh, that's..." _So much for my career as a seductress._ She knew there was no point in pursuing Ashwin, either. Every time they'd been at a bar or restaurant together, she noticed his gaze tracking the young men around them, not girls. "I'll check my schedule," she finally said as her hands sprang into action again. "And I just emailed you some spreadsheets."

"Good, I'll look at them right now if you don't mind." Ashwin reached over to open his laptop and paused for a moment to look at her. "Seriously Sherry, I don't know what kind of pull you have, but we've all worked really hard to get where we are. I sure wouldn't appreciate someone putting that in jeopardy. I thought you of all people would understand that."

Sherry felt her face flush. That sounded oddly like a threat. She wanted to trust Ashwin, if only because she might still need his help someday, but now he had his own territory to protect.

"Take your time," was all she said as she picked up her BlackBerry to check for messages from Wesker. He'd given her the phone last Christmas, not long after her last day as Excella's assistant. "This is your office now," he'd told her. It was a practical gift compared to the pearl ring she still wore every day, but she'd found a way to make the little black device unique.

Sherry entered the passcode and the BlackBerry's screen sprang to life, displaying the background photo she'd taken during a brief detour in Vienna earlier that year. It was a picture of Wesker in profile with his coat collar turned up against the cold. He was looking down at something out of frame—his own cell phone, Sherry knew—and grinning slightly, because he knew she was taking the picture. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, as they always were in public, but that smile said enough. In a small way, it made up for the mistrust and anger that had passed between them not so long ago.

There were no new messages on her phone; he was probably still at the underground lab. Sherry fiddled with the phone's keypad just to make the screen stayed lit and let her mind wander back over the recent months.

Since becoming Wesker's assistant at the beginning of the year, she'd racked up hundreds of frequent flyer miles, traversed miles of worn-down paving stones and walked through innumerable piazzas and plazas and squares. She often saw gaggle of teens posing for photos in front of landmarks but never once wished she was among them. Instead, Sherry stood quietly in the background, an effigy of porcelain and honey, just like the Virgin Mary statue she'd seen in that Polish church.

They might find themselves at lunch with well-dressed people who fell over themselves to get a piece of Tricell's new business venture. By the evening, they could be in a warehouse or some eerie basement, facing down glowering men who wanted an advantage over their enemies. Wesker would sell them that advantage in the form of locked metal briefcases. Most of those people were criminals, while others might've been terrorists. Sometimes the men they met stole prurient glances at Sherry. Then Wesker would noisily clear his throat, gazes would drop to the floor and Sherry had to stop herself from smiling.

Once, when they were alone, Wesker asked her what made the desperate, shifty men they met in back rooms different from the ones that courted them in expensive restaurants and skyscrapers. _Nothing_ , was Sherry's answer. She told him they all wanted the same thing: power. "You do catch on fast, chatelaine," he'd said, clearly pleased.

It felt like they were field agents in a spy novel, only checking in at headquarters when they needed to—and when they needed something besides each other. Every morning, they left the truth behind in the rumpled sheets of a hotel bed and put the lie on with their clothes. Then it was on to the parade of faces and names, of emails and phone calls and ever-shifting schedules that led to new time zones and new goals for the day.

But there were some places they did not go together. America remained closed to her, a grayed-out block on the map. Sherry wanted to accompany him on one of his trips to New York or Washington D.C., but he always left her behind on those occasions. Wesker said it was sometimes better to not tempt fate.

He went off on his own other times as well, leaving Sherry back in Zurich for a few days. These were the parts of his life he wasn't ready to share yet, and frankly she wasn't in a rush to see them. And there were moments when Wesker shot her a sidelong glance and began to say something like "Perhaps..." before trailing off or changing the subject. Then she knew the wound she'd unwittingly carved in him the night she killed the infected dogs never healed.

Sherry had decided to accept the strange force that rose and fell in her like lust and made her unafraid of the sight of blood. She was not a monster, she told herself. She merely understood what it meant to be one. Maybe she could go the rest of her life without learning the truth of it. But could he do the same? Wesker hid it well, but he still ached to know what was inside her. On nights she couldn't sleep, Sherry imagined that need lying between them in bed like a wedge of doubt.

Was she more valuable to him as a partner and mistress or as a specimen? Sherry realized she did not want to know the answer—at least not now, not while things were finally going so well between them. This was her reward for a year of taking Excella's abuse. Plus, 2005 had ended with a flurry of frantic activity when Tricell acquired a scandal-plagued American drug company called WilPharma. It was good to finally get away from that boiler room environment.

And yet, another question nagged at the edge of her mind: Was being by his side really all she needed, all she wanted? Aside from ruining Excella, her ambitions were still little more than shadows on the edge of her vision. But Sherry had tasted enough power to know that she liked it.

_I want to run this shit._ That certainly felt true the night she'd grinned wickedly at Sean while they sat on her bed. After all, she was supposed to be a leader, wasn't she? Wesker had been harping on that for years now—literally years. Could she do both...?

Sherry sighed at her mute phone and Ashwin looked up at her. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing, just..." She looked over his shoulder at the window on the other side of the reception area. "Do you ever feel like you're so close to getting what you want, but you can't shake the feeling that you're never going to get it?"

"Story of my life," Ashwin said flatly.

"It's in my office. Wait out here." Excella's voice drifted down the hallway, preceding her by just a few moments. She visibly jumped when she saw Sherry sitting behind the glass desk, but quickly recovered herself. "Oh, hello my dear. I didn't know you were back," she said smoothly. "Your father didn't call me."

"I'm sure he will soon," Sherry said, doing her best to avoid eye contact with her rival.

Excella just shrugged and didn't even acknowledge Ashwin as she headed towards her office's open door. Sherry craned her neck to look into the hallway and saw Carlos standing with a new researcher who'd recently been assigned to the secret lab. He was a short, weaselly man with a mop of messy blond hair. Sherry had only met him a few times and couldn't remember his name. Richard...Ricky. Something like that. At any rate, Sherry didn't like him at all.

"Well, this seems like as good a time as any to leave." Ashwin closed his laptop and stood up. Sherry nodded without glancing at him. She'd turned to watch Excella through the open door. Lately, whenever she and Wesker had to meet with Excella, she noticed the older woman's gaze lingered too long in places they shouldn't. She had no idea if Excella was still sleeping with Carlos, but it clearly didn't make a difference either way.

A cell phone began to ring somewhere. "Hello? Ah, si. Come siete?" Excella's voice again, lapsing into her native Italian. Sherry finally looked up at Ashwin, ready to say something mollifying or funny to end their conversation on a high note. But then Excella screamed and they both whirled around just in time to see her drop her phone and crumple to her knees.

* * *

The news spread like a pall over the Tricell offices. Sherry saw a surprising number of people crying in the hallways. "Died in his sleep," she overheard someone say reverently. "We should all be so lucky."

Excella held up valiantly until the singer canceled. Now, Sherry could still feel Excella's desperate grip on her forearm as she waited nervously for her cue.

"You can sing. I've heard you sing," Excella had said between sobs.

* * *

She'd only had a few days to practice. Luckily, the violinist spoke English, and all the musicians already knew the song well, so they helped Sherry along. Still, she struggled to find the delicacy the song—or rather, the occasion—required. And she felt sick to her stomach every time she contemplated standing in front of a cathedral full of strangers.

_At least I got to pick my own dress._ It was a long black sheath with a matching lace overlay. Now, Sherry clutched nervously at the dress's sides as she walked up the inlaid marble aisle. She'd already tucked a wireless headset into her ear and adjusted the small microphone. The people around her were silent save for the occasional cough or whisper, but even those small sounds echoed in the massive stone space.

The Duomo di Milano was one of the largest cathedrals in the world, and certainly the biggest church she'd ever been in. From the outside, it looked like a white wedding cake on steroids. The f _açade was_ covered with an almost obscene amount of spires. The interior was even more imposing, with so much color, so many details, so much _everything_ that Sherry's eyes didn't even know where to begin.

Instead, she focused on the wooden casket sitting by the altar steps and reminded herself that she wasn't doing this for Excella. It was for an old man she'd barely known but had shown her nothing but kindness.

Sherry drew in a deep breath, took her place beside the waiting musicians and turned to look at the congregation. She saw Excella in a front pew, her head resting on Carlos's shoulder. Her hands grasped a ball of tissues in her lap, but her face looked placid behind the short black veil pinned in her hair.

_Mourning suits her_ , Sherry thought darkly as she lifted her head. Before her was a veritable who's-who of the world's pharmaceutical industry: the Tricell executives who'd worked with Giacomo for decades, old business partners and even competitors who'd become his friends. There were members of Tricell's other founding families, along with some politicians and dignitaries.

Yes, people had come from far and wide to pay their respects. But there was one face Sherry knew she would not see today. The funeral was too public, Wesker told her, and there were too many factors beyond his control. Better for him to avoid it entirely. Sherry didn't protest, though she wished he was here now, even if he'd had to sit next to Excella.

She nodded to the violinist and the music began. Sherry straightened her back and as calmly as she could, started to sing.

_Jesu, joy of man's desiring. Holy wisdom, love most bright..._

Almost immediately, she felt herself faltering. Sherry preferred songs that actually meant something to her. But these lyrics were odd and cumbersome, and the god she was singing to had never answered her prayers. She stared straight down the cathedral's nave, fixed her eyes on the massive doors at the end and forced herself to go on.

_Drawn by Thee, our souls aspiring, soar to uncreated light._

Uncreated light? What the hell was that? It sounded like the sort of thing that would've made her dad chuckle. The sudden thought of her father made Sherry's vision blur with tears. Her parents didn't get to have a funeral. No on in Raccoon City did. Sherry blinked the stinging tears away and saw a tall figure with blond hair standing near the back of the huge church. She told herself to pretend it was Wesker. The music was building around her, and the next line came out bright and clear.

_Word of God, our flesh that fashioned..._

Sherry kept focusing on the blond man. He was walking down the aisle towards the altar. He came halfway down the nave and stopped. Sherry realized he was starting straight at her. Then she saw it _was_ Wesker, dressed all in black and for once not looking out of place because of it. She stretched her arms out at her sides, turned her palms toward the vaulted ceiling and raised her voice up loud and strong.

_With the fire of life impassioned!_

The words came easily now, because she was singing for him.

_Striving still to truth unknown..._

Sherry held out her right arm and slowly curled her fingers, beckoning.

_Soaring...dying!_

She closed her eyes before lifting her voice higher still.

_Round Thy throne._

Her part now finished, Sherry let her arms fall to her sides and bowed her head as the music swirled to its resolution, ending with a long, sweet strain from a violin. She looked up to see moved, approving faces in the crowd. And Wesker was gone.

* * *

Though it was only the end of May, the days were growing muggy on the shores of Lake Como. A mere 24 hours had passed since she'd stood in Milan's Cimitero Monumentale, watching as Giacomo's coffin was carried into the Gionne family mausoleum. Yet the winds had already shifted.

The promise of oppressive summer heat hung in the long, silent logia as Sherry put on her ballet flats and headed out to the villa's terrace. The evening air brought some relief as it slipped through the thin fabric of her blue sundress. She walked down white marble stairs and stepped between the tall hedges that formed the walled garden's entrance. Hanging lanterns lit the space within, though the man she saw sitting on a stone bench probably didn't need any light to see.

"Hey, move over," she said. Wesker obliged but did not glance up from the notepad he was writing on. Sherry sat down and looked at the far end of the garden where the ivy-covered wall dipped low to reveal a view of the lake and the Bergamo Alps rising on the opposite shore. Now that the sun was down, the lights from other villas reflected on the water and the mountains were just shadows in the distance.

It was a beautiful place—positively enchanting, in fact. Sherry had wandered around the Gionne family's old, sprawling villa for the better part of the day, feeling like she was in a dream. She'd even managed to avoid Excella, who was quietly keeping to herself for a change. Whether she was mourning or scheming, Sherry didn't know, but she tried her best not to feel sorry for her rival. Excella was a orphan now, too. They'd laid her father's casket in the same vault as her mother, who died of cancer some years before.

Sherry realized her locket felt oddly heavy around her neck tonight. She told herself it was just the unseasonable humidity and turned to Wesker.

"I wanted to thank you for changing your mind," she said. "About coming to the funeral, I mean. I'm sure it won you some points with Excella."

He looked at her now, but his real eyes were hidden behind contact lenses. "She didn't see me. I wasn't there for her, anyway," Wesker began quietly. "The song you sang..." His eyes searched her face for a moment, and Sherry thought she saw pain in them. "It was one of my mother's favorites," he said quickly as he resumed writing.

"Oh," Sherry whispered as she pressed her palms against the rough stone bench. She saw the stiffness in his shoulders, the odd way he was hunched over the notepad, and felt the urge to touch him—but didn't dare. Anyone could be watching from the terrace behind them...

"Have you started packing? We have to return to Zurich first thing tomorrow," Wesker said after a moment, his usual cool detachment now restored. "There's much to be done."

"I'm sure there is." Sherry sighed. "I suppose congratulations are in order. Excella's in charge now, right?"

"She has a controlling stake in Tricell, yes," he replied evenly. "But she won't be leading the company. In fact, her new role—"

"Albert!" Excella's voice cut though the night air and both their heads turned towards the terrace. In the low light, Excella was just a featureless shadow leaning against the terrace's railing. But Sherry heard the anxiety in her voice loud and clear. "You...you have a visitor."

"Stay here," Wesker said as he stood up.

Sherry frowned but did as she was told. _What fresh hell is this?_

"Carlos is watching him in foyer," Excella said as Wesker quickly mounted the steps. "He's alone. I don't know him..." Her voice receded, leaving Sherry alone in the garden's dark, walled expanse.

She turned back to the lake and tried not to worry about the mysterious visitor. Wesker could handle him, whoever he was. Sherry turned her mind to the conversation they'd just had. If Excella was going to control the company but not lead it...what on earth did Wesker have planned?

"God _dammit_ ," Sherry muttered under her breath. She sprung off the bench and marched towards the garden's entrance. Suddenly, leaving those two alone under any circumstances felt like a very bad idea.

A short, plain man Sherry had never seen before was just walking out the front door when she came into the villa's foyer. She saw Excella and Carlos standing together to one side. They seemed to be keeping their distance from the scene unfolding before them.

She'd seen Wesker like this before, with his fists balled at his sides and every muscle in his body tensed. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. And was he...shaking?

With his hand on the open door, the stranger said something to Wesker that she did not hear. Then the door closed and he was gone.

She rushed over to Wesker, trying to fight the sudden tide of fear building within her. "What is it? What happened?"

"Spencer," he hissed without looking at her.

Sherry blinked. _The man who founded Umbrella? Isn't he dead?_

"What...what about him?"

"He found me," Wesker said.

* * *

_August 10, 2006_

_Somewhere on the coast of Normandy_

The beam of Sherry's flashlight bounced along the sand as she ran as fast as she could along the narrow beach. Ten minutes, the ship's captain told her. Ten minutes was all he could give her.

The distress signal had come from this lonely stretch of land. There was no disputing that. Wesker was here, somewhere. But even as she called out his name, Sherry's voice was lost to the wind and thunder.

She kept moving, raking the shoreline with her flashlight until it hit something blacker than the encroaching night.

"Oh my God!" she shouted as she ran to Wesker's side. "Al, are you—?"

"I am _fine_ ," he rasped, his voice low and gravely. Sherry raised her flashlight and saw his face was covered with blood. She covered her scream with her free hand, but couldn't stop a cry of revulsion when she saw what he carried in his arms. It was a wet, twisted bundle with arms and legs. It was a person.

"That's...a dead..." she began.

"No, still breathing," Wesker said as he began to walk, his voice strained. "I broke the fall."

"Fall?" Sherry echoed as she looked up at the sheer cliff overhead. Spencer's supposedly-abandoned mansion was perched high above them. For a moment, she thought she heard a man's voice on the wind, calling...

Wesker was walking away from her now, and she had to scramble to catch up.

"What happened?" Sherry demanded, shouting to make herself heard over the crashing waves. "Tell me!"

"Someone tipped off the BSAA," he grumbled, his gait slowly slightly. "They interrupted the mission. She tried to stop me."

Sherry now saw it was a woman in his arms, her long hair matted with blood. "Wait, _she_? What about Spencer? Did you find him?"

That was the whole reason they'd come to this God-forsaken coastline: Lord Ozwell Spencer—"Oz" to his few friends—the president of the Umbrella Corporation. Sherry knew a bit about him thanks to the Red Queen's files. Spencer was a British nobleman both between the World Wars. He emigrated to the United States as a young man and used his family's wealth to found Umbrella with two colleagues. After Raccoon City's destruction, Spencer became a wanted man, but he disappeared and rumors of his death quickly spread. Wesker never said much about him, expect that he'd sometimes worked with Spencer during his own tenure with Umbrella.

Until that muggy May evening on Lake Como, he too thought Spencer was beyond mortal reach. After that night, Wesker was suddenly on edge, preoccupied. When they returned to Zurich, he spent the evenings sequestrated in the apartment's small spare room. Soon, he began to neglect his other work, and Sherry found herself deflecting angry phone calls from Excella and shuttling messages to the secret labs Wesker usually visited in person.

He didn't answer Sherry's questions about what he was doing. The food she left out for him went uneaten. When he came to bed—if he did at all—it was only to collapse for a few hours before returning to his secret task.

Something was happening. Something was wrong. And for the first time in their life together, she felt him slipping away.

_It's not fair_ , Sherry thought bitterly when she sat alone in bed at night, turning Jack's combat knife over in her hands. She knew how to play politics in the office, how to be useful during the day and bend her body just so at night. But this was a battle she did not understand. After all she'd been through, all she'd learned, she wasn't even losing him to Excella. No, she was losing to his old boss.

She put on a brave face when Bianca threw her a small birthday party at a restaurant in the Medieval Quarter. Sean showed up but spent most of the evening texting someone. Sherry didn't even feel jealous. She just felt like a failure.

Then, after weeks of deciphering the clues the odd little man named Patrick had dropped on Excella's doorstep, Wesker emerged from his makeshift office looking restless and gaunt. He finally knew where Spencer was hiding. "He found me," Wesker had said. "Now he wants me to find him."

It was all supposed to be over tonight. Wesker easily convinced Excella of Spencer's potential as a bargaining chip and she allowed them to use Tricell resources for the mission. For her part, Sherry just wanted to look Spencer in the eye and say, _You can't have him. He's mine._

He'd gone in alone with Sherry and a commando team on standby. The objective was simple: capture Spencer alive. At least, that's what Wesker told everyone he was going to do...

The broken woman let out a faint groan as Sherry pulled out her radio to call in the extraction.

"Yes, I found Spencer," Wesker responded flatly as he shifted his ghastly burden. "But I had to kill him."

"Had to? _Had_ to?" Sherry yelled at him over a clap of thunder. "I thought you wanted him alive!"

Wesker looked out at the churning sea, his eyes fixed on the approaching lights in the distance. "I'm afraid he convinced me otherwise."

* * *

"Inform me if she survives longer than 24 hours," Wesker told the stunned medical team as he turned to leave the lab's operating room. Sherry trailed after him as he headed for the elevator.

She was running on adrenaline and no sleep, but she could cope with that. She couldn't care less about her dirty combat uniform or messy hair either. But Wesker had barely spoken since they'd left the desolate beach and that was driving her crazy. Sherry just wanted to go back to their apartment, crawl into bed with him and start over when morning came. If it came.

"What happened out there tonight?" she asked as the elevator doors slid shut. Nothing. Wesker just stared straight ahead. He'd wiped the blood off his face, but in the elevator's harsh light, Sherry saw his long black coat was splattered with it. How much was his and how much was the half-dead woman's was impossible to say.

"Let's get you home, then we can talk," she said softly, trying to hide the fear in her voice. Sherry touched his forearm but he shrugged her off and her palm came away bloody.

The elevator reached ground level and he stalked into the lab's lobby area, an innocuous space designed to look like a generic office. The security guards saw them and nodded without speaking. They were used to seeing Wesker at all times of the day and night. _And maybe covered in blood, too,_ Sherry mused.

Instead of heading for the main entrance, Wesker went into a side room that served as a lounge for the researchers and shut the door behind them. Sherry found herself in a darkened space full of cheap tables and chairs. A summer storm raged outside the plate glass windows, and occasional flashes of lightning lit the forest outside. Dawn was still hours away.

"Why are we in here?" Sherry said as she glanced around the room. "Let's just—Oh, God!"

Wesker collapsed next to a table, one hand clutching his shoulder. Sherry heard his sunglasses clatter on the floor.

She hurried over and crouched down beside him.

"You're hurt!" she burst out. "I'll get help."

"Wait...stop." He pulled himself to his knees and steadied himself on the table, but did not stand. "Spencer didn't matter," Wesker said as he started at the floor and drew in quick, heavy breaths. "He never mattered. I know that now. It was just a ploy to get me back." Sherry put a hand on his back and he did not pull away this time. "Someone else needs to know," he began with a grimace. "In case something happens to me, someone else must know the truth."

Sherry swallowed hard. _The truth..._ She felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff.

"Tell me," was all she needed to say.

"My mother was from one of those rarified Boston Brahmin families—the oldest of the old money," Wesker began with a hint of bitterness in his voice. "And my father was a heart surgeon. A rather well-known one, too. Growing up, I assumed I was being groomed to follow in his footsteps."

Sherry just nodded, waiting for more.

"I was privileged. I had everything. But now I know it was only because Umbrella was preparing me," he said, still not looking at her. "They controlled my entire goddamn life!" Wesker moved to stand up, but let out a grunt of pain and sank to his knees again.

"Easy, easy!" Sherry steadied him as best she could, pressing her arm across his chest. Their faces were suddenly close. Wesker reached up and clutched her forearm. She felt his breath hot and fast against her skin. But there was no desire in this embrace. Tonight, their world reeked of blood.

"I was an experiment—one of Spencer's pet projects," he went on, but his voice began to falter. "My whole life...a lie...that's what he told me tonight. My whole life. So many things make sense now, even..."

Sherry looked up at him, desperately searching for something to say, but no words came. Why wouldn't this madness stop? What could possibly be coming next?

He pressed his eyes closed and let out a long sigh. When he opened them again, the red glow was unmistakable.

"The spring before I turned 17, two men came to the house one night. I thought they were just some of my father's colleagues, so I went up to my room to read. But they must've been Umbrella agents. The _must've_ been!" Wesker said with sudden urgency. "My parents had a fight after the men left. There was nothing unusual about _that_." He paused to smile ruefully at her. "But there was something different this time. My mother was so _angry_. I should've known, I should've seen it coming..." His shoulders sagged as he trailed off.

"Seen what?" Sherry whispered. "What happened?" Bits of old conversations started to come back to her. _The song you sang...it was one of my mother's favorites._

Wesker leaned against her, bowing his head. "She was so full of life sometimes—bursting with it. And other times, she was not a well woman. Not at all."

_It was always Christmas Eve for us...I think my mother fairly lived for it. We did that for years until..._

"We had a little ritual: Every morning before I left for school, she'd tell me, 'Don't forget to change the world today.' But the day after those men came..." Sherry felt his grip on her arm tighten. Something terrible was building in his voice, something she'd never heard before. "She looked like she hadn't slept at all. She said, 'Always remember that in my way, I've loved you.' I asked her what was wrong, but she just told me I was going to be late for school. So I left."

Sherry felt her body going numb with fear, but she had to let him finish.

"I knew my father had surgeries all day, so I came home early to check on her. I never should've left her alone in the first place. I never..." His voice began to break. "I found her on the floor in bathroom."

"No," Sherry heard herself say.

Wesker paused for just a moment, the his eyes shone again in the dimness. "She'd slit her wrists," he murmured in Sherry's ear. "I'll never forget how cold she felt. It was the first time I ever touched a dead body." Wesker shook his head. "There was so much blood..."

Sherry was shaking now, clinging to him as much as he was to her.

"Al, I never—" she said, but Wesker cut her off.

"Of _course_ there was no time to mourn," he spat. "Umbrella recruiters showed up just a few weeks after the funeral. I moved to Raccoon City that autumn and met your father." Sherry felt his hand on the back of her head, gathering loose strands of her hair. "But do you know what I found out tonight, chatelaine? They weren't my real parents." A brutal grin flashed across his face.

She stared up at him. "What? How could that be?"

"My family—it was all a lie," Wesker gasped, his voice rising again. "Spencer arranged for them to raise me. Everything in my life was planned." He slipped out of Sherry's grasp and bent over. "Every choice I've made, every sacrifice...They weren't choices at all!" Wesker shouted over a peal of thunder. "I always did exactly what Spencer wanted me to do!" He doubled over, palms pressed against the floor. "I was never a person. I'm not... _anything_!" he screamed.

Sherry could only kneel by his side and wait for the storm outside to pass. But it went on for the rest of the night.

* * *

_Lenox, Massachusetts_

_August 16, 2006_

"You have to understand, it was a different era. We didn't have many options and your mother was desperate."

"Edith," Wesker said sharply. "Her name was Edith and she was _not_ my mother. I never had one."

"How dare you deny your mother, boy?" the old man demanded. Wesker winced. Even now, his father's voice could still cut to the bone. "She loved you the best she could. You know she had her challenges."

"'Challenges'? That's quaint," he sneered. "She was bipolar, Simon. Or something damn near close. She suffered for years and you did nothing. I was the one who had to come home and find her dead."

Simon turned toward the window. "Yes, that was a damn shame. I never thought she'd actually do it. To this day, I never imagined—"

"She intended for _you_ to find her, not me. That's why she..."

"Made such a mess?" The old man raised his gray eyebrows.

Wesker saw the blood-splattered bathroom in his mind's eye and immediately changed the subject. "You should have known better when Spencer approached you," he snapped.

"True enough. Oz was always a strange fellow, even in med school." Simon shrugged and shifted in his armchair. "But what would you have done? You can't have a child of your own and someone offers you a baby that's guaranteed to be intelligent and talented. Perfect, if you will. All we had to do was follow Oz's instructions for your education and he promised Umbrella would give you a career when you got older."

Wesker stood silently for a moment, taking in the simple room his father now called home. The retirement community Simon lived in was adequate, and maybe even luxurious by some standards. All the same, Wesker silently vowed to never occupy such a room himself. He clasped his arms behind him and refocused on the old man sitting in the chair by the window.

"I know I wasn't the only one in the project," he said. "How did he keep the other adoptive families quiet?"

Simon glanced at him, incredulous. "Made them rich, of course."

"But you didn't need the money."

"Umbrella funded the hospital's cardiac department. He made all my work possible. And..." Simon looked away again, lost in memory. "You made your mother happy. We both knew they would want you back someday. I just didn't think they'd tell your mother the truth about the project."

Wesker knew he had to ask the question, though part of him didn't want to. "Who were they?"

"Your mean your birth parents?" Simon said crossly. "According to Oz, some war criminal and his child bride. We were better off not knowing the details, and you were better off without them. They died not long after you were born. Or maybe they were killed." Simon saw the look of shock on his face. "Oh don't look at me like I pulled the trigger myself!" he exclaimed, swiping the air with a mottled hand. "Bert, it's water under the bridge. I don't have long now. Two months at most, they say." The old man tapped his wrinkled forehead and smiled sadly. "Inoperable brain tumor. Ironic way for a surgeon to go, don't you think?"

Wesker wavered for a moment. _So much death. I'm always surrounded by it._ "Simon..."

"You can't call me 'dad'? Not even one more time? You'd deny me that?"

"I can't say it. I won't."

"Well, you always did have a mean streak." Simon sighed and folded his wrinkled hands in his lap. "For what it's worth, I never believed you were dead," he said gently, then he lifted his head. "So, anything else new by you?"

"I have a daughter. She just turned 20," Wesker said as he pushed up the bridge of his sunglasses with his index finger.

"I'm a grandfather, eh? Where's her mother?"

"Dead, of course."

Simon chuckled softly. "How convenient."

"Very," Wesker said with a curt nod before he turned to leave. "Goodbye, Simon."


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

_I heard her holler  
I heard her moan  
My lovely daughter  
I took her home_

_-"Down by the Water," PJ Harvey_

* * *

_August 24, 2006_

_Zurich_

"Can I get you anything? Food, coffee?" Sherry asked as she tied her running shoes. "Hard liquor, opiates?"

Wesker didn't answer, but she was getting used to that. The last time she heard him speak was the day he returned from America. He gave a researcher some instructions over the phone then shut the curtains and flopped into bed. That was a week ago and he'd barely moved since.

At first, Sherry had been almost out of her mind with worry. She spent hours sitting on the edge of the bed staring at his listless body, trying to think of a way to pull him out of his personal hell.

She refused to let herself cry; she needed to be strong for him. At least she could do her work remotely and didn't have to leave him alone in the apartment. Wesker's words from that stormy night kept replaying in her mind. _I never should've left her alone in the first place._

And so she did not leave him, and patiently took Excella's calls and slept on the couch because she sensed that he needed space, so maybe if she gave it to him, he'd revive on his own.

Maybe she was codependent. Maybe she was doing everything wrong. All Sherry knew for sure was the alternative was life without him, and that was something she could not even contemplate.

But after the dozenth time Excella yelled at her over the phone, she started getting annoyed with him. Wesker wasn't going to kill himself. He wasn't going to do much of anything, it seemed.

Today, she was out of ideas, out of patience, and it was a beautiful afternoon.

Sherry sighed and reached over to scratch his chin. "This mourning beard isn't a good look on you. Too many gray hairs."

Wesker grunted and pulled a pillow over his face.

"Fine, Al! That's just fine!" She stood up and grabbed the nearest T-shirt to put on over her sports bra. "I'm going for a run."

* * *

Every song on her iPod annoyed her today. And she'd accidentally grabbed one of his discarded undershirts, so his scent came along for the jog, too, mocking her. They'd barely touched each other since this whole mess started.

_Life is a mystery, everyone must stand alone..._

Skip.

_Father, can you hear me? How have I let you down?_

_Oh bloody hell._ Skip.

Sherry finally settled on a brooding, piano-driven song and put it on repeat. She mouthed the refrain as she jogged down the street.

_I am ready, I am ready, I am ready, I am fine._

And maybe Wesker would be fine too by the time she got back. It was a lot to hope for, but Sherry clung to it nonetheless. He would get out of bed eventually. He had to. Didn't he?

On one hand, she couldn't blame him for buckling under the strain of the summer's unexpected events. The truth of Wesker's past was more horrible than anything she'd ever imagined. Sherry couldn't get the image of a blood-splattered bathroom out of her mind.

She ached for him, even as her frustration mounted. At the same time, he didn't have a monopoly on pain. Sherry had watched her mother die, too—and what was left of her father. Didn't that still count for something?

After about an hour, Sherry felt satisfied with her workout and turned for home. She was about to cross an intersection near the apartment when a black sedan pulled up.

"Hey, kid!"

The car's back door swung open. She stared at the occupant for a moment then finally remembered the unpleasant little man's name.

"Ricardo, right?" she said as she pulled out her earbuds.

He gave her a curt nod. "Get in. I've got a present for your old man."

Sherry glanced around the street. This hardly seemed kosher.

"C'mon, I don't have all day." He was getting annoyed. "Excella sent me."

Sherry took a moment to sift through a mental catalog of motives and possibilities, then walked toward the car. Ricardo slid over to make room.

"Take us around the block a couple times," he told the driver. Up close, Ricardo looked almost exactly like a rat. He had a grating New York accent and a bad habit of bearing his teeth when he talked. He pulled a metal briefcase out from beneath the passenger seat. "Here's the full workup he requested on Sleeping Beauty. Maybe this'll convince him to finally answer his phone."

Sherry shrugged off the dig. "If it's that sensitive, you should hand it off directly to him."

"I was supposed to, but I'd rather deal with you. No offense to him, but you don't look like you might haul off and kill somebody any second."

_That's debatable_ , Sherry thought. "Did Excella make it to Tokyo?" she asked, putting on her professional face.

"Yup, she's shoring up support with our Asian division. Your old man should've gone with her." Ricardo furrowed his brow. "What the hell is he up to right now?"

"Resting," Sherry said carefully. "The last mission took a lot out of him."

"You don't say," he sneered. "It was a friggin' disaster. You know that woman is a BSAA agent, right? If he's wrong about her, we're all going to be in a world of hurt."

Sherry narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean, 'wrong about her'?"

"What, your old man doesn't tell you everything?" Ricardo's mouth broke into a crooked grin. "I guess you'll just have to ask him yourself."

"Sure, whatever." Sherry looked out the car's window. "That's my building at the end of the street. You can stop here," she told the driver.

The car came to a halt. Ricardo tapped the dial lock on the briefcase's top before handing it to her. "Anyway, it's set to his usual passcode."

She opened the door and was about the step out when he put his hand on her shoulder. "Look kid, I see what's going on here," Ricardo said, an odd gleam in his sallow eye. "People like us never get our due just by doing a good job. We have to _take_ it."

"What are you even talking about?" Sherry didn't bother to hide her disgust as she grabbed the suitcase and wriggled away from him.

"Make a choice. Are you gonna play this game or not?" Ricardo said with sudden sternness. "You know what they say: Buy the ticket, take the ride."

* * *

Sherry set the briefcase on the foot of the bed. "Okay Al, on your bike. Duty calls."

Nothing.

"This is what you've been waiting for, the test results on what's-her-name."

"Jill," Wesker said as he rolled onto his side. His voice was dull and hoarse. "Her name is Jill. I'll look at it later."

"No, now. You have to get up _now_."

He didn't respond. _Enough._ She didn't want to fight. She didn't want to beg, either. Sherry just wanted him to get out of bed.

She took off her shoes and laid down next to him. "You are my rock. For eight year, you've been my rock." Sherry reached for his back and stroked the fabric of his shirt. "Don't tell me I picked the wrong person to build on," she breathed.

"You did not," Wesker said after a moment. He sat up, grabbed the suitcase and quickly clicked the lock's dials into place.

Each page in the report seemed to energize him a little more. Before long, Wesker got up to take a shower and took his cell phone with him. Sherry heard his voice after the water stopped running.

"I imagine $20 million will cover reopening the facility, but I am not convinced—" The person on the other end cut him off. "Very well, I will leave that in your hands," Wesker conceded. "There is still the matter of the region's political climate. I will put my network on it." He stepped out of the bathroom, clean-shaven with a towel wrapped around his waist, but still on the phone. "Yes, and I apologize. The project will have my undivided attention from now on. It is extremely important to me...and so are you." There was an eagerness in his voice that his face did not show.

Sherry rolled her eyes. Excella again. As usual. She glanced over at the briefcase and noticed the four numbers Wesker had entered on the lock. 1-9-8-6. Her birth year.

"Of course, until then." Wesker hung up and tossed the phone on the dresser. "Right, I need to get some info on—" he began.

But Sherry got off the bed, strode over to him and yanked off his towel. Without a word, she slid to her knees and took him in her mouth. It wasn't her favorite thing to do—her jaw got tired sooner rather than later—but it was worth it for the shudder she felt run through his body. He groaned and reached down to undo her ponytail.

"You may want to stop that now," Wesker said soon. He gently pulled her to her feet.

She started laughing with relief as her clothes hit the floor. _He's back._ Sherry fell onto the bed and her giggles turned to moans as their bodies coiled together, skin sliding against skin. He filled her, pinning her down like a spike driven into the earth. They took their time, so night was falling when Sherry sat up and stretched her arms over her head.

Wesker was going over the reports with a highlighter when he abruptly turned to her.

"Do you want to hear the story of why I hate Chris Redfield?"

* * *

Dawn was seeping through the curtains by the time he finished. Wesker stood by the window, his features gray and impassive in the dim light. He seemed to have aged more in one summer than the past eight years combined.

Sherry looked up at him, gulping back tears. "You've killed people," she whispered. "You've killed _a lot_ of people."

"Did you expect anything less?"

"I didn't expect _that_ ," she said. "The S.T.A.R.S team trusted you, and you betrayed them. And Jill—you're just going to let the rest of the world think she's dead?" She stood up and walked toward him. "What gave you the right?" Sherry demanded, finding her anger at last.

Wesker just grinned. "Spencer did, oddly enough." Then his face went blank again. "And stop that immediately. They don't need your tears." He brushed past her and began collecting the documents scattered on the bed.

"It all goes back to Spencer's secret project, the one that created me," Wesker explained. "The goal was to force the next stage in human evolution. Spencer thought he would be hailed as a god. But he made one mistake: Why would we obey an ordinary man? _We_ were the superior beings. Well, some of us were," he finished with a snort.

"Wait, there were others?" Sherry was surprised. "You had...siblings?"

"Yes, but most of the candidates did not survive past adolescence. There are perhaps one or two others still alive, but they do not matter. I am the one who found him and I am the one who killed him. I've earned the right," Wesker said as he dropped the pile of papers into the suitcase and closed it. "That is what I told Spencer before he died, though I don't think he appreciated the irony."

Sherry watched him for a moment. For all Wesker had told her tonight, she still had so many questions. And why was she suddenly thinking about that Navajo story she'd read so many years ago, the one about people who broke rules and killed to gain power?

"So Claire is Chris's sister," she said, eager to keep him talking. "Did she ever try to find me?"

"Not as far as I know. The dear girl had her own path to follow, I'm afraid." He crossed the room and grabbed a suit from his side of the closet. "Now get some sleep. I'll call you soon."

She plunked down on the bed and crossed her arms, staring daggers at Wesker's back as he got dressed. "So what now? Off to save the world?"

"No, something better," he shot back with a laugh. "I'm going to change it."

* * *

She ended up taking a sleeping pill to settle down. For the first time in a long while, Sherry had a nightmare. She was dumped into the midst of a massacre. Shadows made fonts of blood erupt into the air as countless people fell to the ground, writhing and screaming and dying. But Sherry was not in danger. An unnatural calmness came over her as she watch the carnage from her seat on a high-backed throne. No, she wasn't merely watching it.

She was presiding over it.

* * *

_August 29, 2006_

"Head of the African division? That's Excella's idea of a plum position?" Bianca could barely keep her voice down as they huddled in the little reception area outside Excella's office.

"Yeah, that doesn't make sense," Ashwin said. "Tricell basically phased out those operations years ago. There's only a satellite office in Cairo now."

"I've heard rumors about a new facility in West Africa. Actually, it's an old facility Excella wants to reopen." Sherry gestured for the others to bend in closer. "It used to be owned by Umbrella," she whispered.

" _The_ Umbrella?" Bianca gasped.

Ashwin screwed up his face. "Wait, wasn't the Raccoon City outbreak somehow their fault? Or is that just a conspiracy theory?"

"No, they were fucking _evil_ ," Bianca spat with real anger. "My family knew some people who died there," she said, dropping her voice as her eyes wandered to the room's far end. Sherry recognized the pain in Bianca's face and bit her lip.

_Not many people know the full truth of what happened in Raccoon City_ , Wesker had told her during his night-long confession. _It needs to remain that way._

"I want Sean to know about this, too," she said, changing the subject. "Where is he, anyway? He didn't respond to my text."

Bianca's head swiveled back to attention. "Oh, you didn't hear? He transferred to the London office, like, a month ago."

"London?" Sherry blurted. "A _month_?"

"Hey, don't look at me. You dropped that ball."

"Yeah, you sort of did," Ashwin agreed. "Anyway, you know all this because of your dad, right?"

"Yes, but Excella's the driving force. I don't think my dad understands how bad this could look for Tricell." It was lie, but it was all Sherry had. Excella was now just a means to an end. She had to get Wesker out of this mess...

Ashwin raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't understand or doesn't care?"

Bianca cut in before Sherry could respond. " _That's_ who you dad reminds me of. I just figured it out!" she said with a snap of her fingers. "Lucius Malfoy from _Harry Potter_!"

"From...?" Sherry began. "Oh sorry, I don't read children's books."

Bianca's face hardened. "You know what, Sherry? Sometimes you can be a real bitch."

* * *

_September 1, 2006_

"You rang?" Sherry drawled as she walked into the underground lab's bright control room. The metal door closed behind her with a whoosh of cold air.

Wesker glanced back and saw she was dressed in jeans and a sky-blue blouse. The locket around her neck was almost the same color as the hair that fell around her shoulders. He hesitated for a moment, then turned back to the computer console and slouched down in his chair.

"Thank you for coming so quickly," he replied.

"This had better be good. It's supposed to be my day off."

He imagined her crossing her arms and staring him down the way she always did when she was mad at him, but he did not look back again.

"Yes, I need to ask you something. The episode you experienced last January...do you think there was a triggering factor in what happened?"

"Oh God, this again?" He could practically hear her roll her eyes, but still did not turn his head. "Well, it was really stressful," Sherry recounted with an exasperated sigh. "I watched a man die and then something in me just took over, I guess."

"Stress," Wesker echoed. "I thought as much." He reached over and pressed a button on the console.

"But what does that—"

The door behind them slid open and he closed his eyes but could not close his ears to Sherry's screams as two commandos grabbed her from behind and dragged her out of the room.

* * *

"Was calling in backup really necessary?" Wesker asked as he stared at the wide TV screen mounted on the control room's wall.

"I'm afraid so. She almost got a sidearm away from one of them," Carlos said nonchalantly. "Besides, you told me to get her adrenaline pumping."

"I did, yes," he admitted. The screen was linked to a video camera trained on the inside of a white-tiled containment chamber. Wesker watched the door at one end fly open. A commando shoved Sherry inside so hard that she stumbled and nearly fell. He winced, but she immediately wheeled around and began to pound on the now-closed door behind her. There was an audio feed, too.

"Let me out!" Sherry shrieked. "You promised, you promised, _you promised_!"

"Don't listen to anything she says," he told Carlos. "She's not in danger." He turned and nodded to a researcher who'd just come into the control room. "Proceed," Wesker told him.

On the screen, he saw Sherry crumple to her knees as she began to sob. Wesker felt a sudden tightness in his chest but forced himself to keep watching the screen. It was time to settle this matter once and for all.

Sherry's head snapped around at the sound of another door opening behind her. Her tears stopped and terror spread across her face. Low growls echoed through the speaker.

The animal stalked into the camera's range. This was a very special specimen: a North American cougar, sleek and large with fur almost the same color as Sherry's hair—where it still had fur. Just like the dogs that got loose, this animal was already in the late stages of T virus infection. Its skin had rotted away in places, though it kept moving as if it were whole. Its paws left prints in its own blood on the floor.

_She is not in any danger_ , Wesker reminded himself. _I can stop this with a word._

It seemed to take an eternity for the animal to advance. Then he noticed a subtle change had come over Sherry. She was staring at the cougar. Just...starting at it. Then Sherry did the unthinkable: She got to her feet and, step after cautious step, walked _towards_ the damned creature.

"What the hell is she...wait, you okay, boss?"

Wesker realized he was breathing heavily and gave Carlos a dismissive nod.

When she was just a few feet from the animal, Sherry slowly knelt and lifted her arm, beckoning to it like it was a house cat.

"C'mere, you silly kitty," Wesker heard her say. The cougar closed the space between them and nuzzled against her chest.

"It's not attacking her!" Carlos gasped in disbelief. "Is it...purring?"

Wesker just gritted his teeth and kept staring.

Sherry laughed. "See? Was that so hard?" The fur on the cougar's head was still mostly intact and she began to stroke it, even scratching behind its ears. "Wanna get out of here?" she asked the animal with a rueful grin, and suddenly everything he'd feared over a year—everything he hoped this experiment would finally disprove—became real.

Wesker couldn't watch the TV screen any longer. He shoved Carlos aside and ran out of the control room. The containment chamber was just a few steps away at the end of a narrow hallway.

"Should I stop the experiment, sir?" one of the researchers called out.

"No one move a muscle unless I say so," Wesker growled. "I have to see this for myself."

He slammed the containment chamber's door behind him and Sherry looked up, startled. The cougar was lying down with its head and shoulders draped across her lap, but it started to growl the moment Wesker approached.

Sherry put her hand on the animal's tawny shoulder, but it was already starting to rise. "Wait, don't..." Was she addressing him or the creature? There was no time to find out.

The cougar was fast, but Wesker was faster. He sidestepped the animal's first lunge and drew his old RPD-issued handgun from the shoulder holster hidden under his suit jacket. Custom-designed and built just for him, he'd kept it all these years and it had never let him down. Someday, it would put a bullet between Chris Redfield's eyes. Today though, Wesker trained the gun on a charging animal and emptied half a clip into its head.

Sherry screamed as the spray of blood shellacked her face and clothes.

"Sir, do you need assistance?" Carlos' voice, garbled and frantic over the room's speakers.

"No one is to enter," Wesker hissed back. "That is an order!"

He stood over the felled animal and finished off the rest of the handgun's clip just to make sure it was dead. The gunshots were like explosions in the small space. From the corner of his eye, he saw Sherry crouch low and cover her ears.

"How could you do this to me?" she roared as Wesker re-holstered his handgun. There were flecks of blood on his sunglasses. He took them off and wiped them on the edge of his shirt.

"The tests told us nothing, so I decided to attempt to replicate the phenomenon," he told her coldly. "A somewhat crude approach, I admit. But frankly, I should have done this months ago."

Wesker put his sunglasses back on and suppressed a smirk as he wondered if the fall from the cliff had actually knocked some sense into him. He'd delayed this trial by fire because, at least for a while, he wanted Sherry by his side more than he needed the truth. But then came the stormy night on the coast, and Spencer...and Jill. Now, there could be no more waiting, no more weakness. For good or ill, it was finally time to act.

Sherry got to her feet, her whole body heaving with rage. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she demanded. "That was totally, completely reckless!"

"I would've interceded the moment the subject began to attack you," Wesker said, trying to ignore the tension gathering between his lungs. "I simply had to see certain things for myself. Let me make this perfectly clear—"

"Nothing will ever be clear as long as you're the one explaining it!" Sherry yelled back. "You had no right to do that! You had no right to make him and kill him just for some bloody research!" She jabbed a finger at the dead cougar. "And he wasn't going to hurt me. He was trying to protect me! He _belonged_ to me!" Sherry raised her arm and pointed at him, venom dripping from her voice. "Just like _you_ belong to me. Now be a good boy and _heel_!"

It felt like his blood was on fire as Wesker fell to the floor. He narrowly missed collapsing on the cougar's carcass as he landed hard on the tile floor. The nauseating scent of disinfectant mixed with decay overwhelmed him, nearly making him retch. Wesker tried to pull himself to his knees, but another wave of searing pain shot through his body, bolting him to the floor.

_How?_ he wanted to scream, but the word would not come. Wesker managed to turn onto his side and planted a steadying palm on the floor. He lifted his head and saw Sherry standing over him, her face transformed by streaks of blood that looked like war paint.

"Do you believe me _now_? Is this what you wanted to see?" she howled. "I can hear them! I can smell the viruses you put in them! But _they_ listen to me—unlike you!"

Wesker grimaced and held in a scream as another spasm claimed him. He'd known this pain before—he was sure of that now—but he'd been a fool and chalked it up to missing doses of the antiviral cocktail. The withdrawal symptoms always stopped as soon as the serum hit his bloodstream. In fact, he'd injected a booster shot less than an hour ago.

But this was different. This was worse.

As he lay on the cold tile floor, Wesker's mind traveled backwards, past the dead dogs and bloody snow, to the first time he'd brought Sherry to this very lab. The test subjects' unexplained outburst...it had to be Sherry's doing.

Then he reached back even further, to that summer night in the study when she threw her arms around his neck and whispered a breathless "thank you" in his ear. Some shred of his former humanity had stopped him from ripping off Sherry's dress and taking her right then and there. But the pain he'd felt when he pushed her away...it was the price of resisting her. No wonder the infected animals simply obeyed.

Wesker slammed the floor with his fist and tried to stand again, though he was almost sure one more surge of agony would make him black out. Or break. Then he heard Sherry gasp and looked up to see a cluster of bright red dots on the middle of her chest.

"That's enough! Step away from him!" Carlos shouted. Wesker hadn't even heard the chamber's door open, but Carlos and two commandos were just feet away, their guns drawn.

Sherry looked down at the red points of light from the laser sights, then up at Carlos. Her face was suddenly stricken, and as if someone had flipped a switch, the pain receded from Wesker's body. He rolled onto his back and was content to just breath for a few moments.

"Stand down, Oliveira," he said to the dark-tinted ceiling. Somehow, his sunglasses had stayed on through the whole ordeal.

"Not likely, sir. No telling what she'll do next."

"My lab, my daughter, my rules," Wesker snapped and he tried to push himself up on his elbows He felt weak and woozy, but that only served to make him angry. "Tell you men to stand down, _now_!"

"Fine, it can be your funeral, too," Carlos muttered. He lowered his MP5 and nodded at the other commandos to do the same.

Sherry dropped to her knees next to him. "Why did you make me do that? Why?" she moaned as she scrabbled at his shirt and started to cry again.

He reached up to wipe the blood and tears from her face and she caught his hand and held it there against her cheek. "There's something very special about you," Wesker told her. "I've always known that. You could still be..."

_My_ _equal, yes. But not stronger than me. Never stronger._

"Stop it, just stop!" Sherry let go of his hand and buried her face in her own bloodied palms. "I want to go home!"

"And we will," Wesker said as he finally stood.

* * *

"I'm taking my daughter to London for a few days."

"Why, for what?" Carlos squinted as he tried to read the older man's expression. His eyes were still adjusting to the darkened room Wesker had pulled him into after they'd left the containment chamber. A team of scientists in hazmats were assessing Sherry down the hall. Carlos had seen this routine before, the questions and poking and prodding that Sherry endured with a steeliness beyond her years.

_Who is she really?_

"It's not really any of your business, but I need to get some items out of storage," Wesker said as he adjusted his sunglasses. Carlos thought he saw the flash of a grin.

"And why did you go in there with that monster?" he pressed on. "Dammit, this is such a mess! What am I supposed to tell Excella?" He turned away from Wesker and stalked further into the room, running his hands nervously through his hair. It needed a trim, but Excella liked it on the longer side.

Carlos glanced desperately around, trying figure out what to do next. Wesker had sworn him and everyone else involved in this little experiment to secrecy, which wasn't anything new to Carlos. He was used to strange requests, but this was getting to be too much. The gleam he'd seen in Sherry's eyes as she stood over her father... He wasn't sure why, but it made him think of Raccoon City.

_Who are you, chica? What are you?_

Then Carlos realized the room was much larger than he'd first noticed. Strange pieces of medical equipment loomed around him, peppered with tiny lights that blinked like stars in the darkness. There was a huge glass tube at the end of the room. Something floated inside, though Carlos could not quite make it out.

"Excella is not part of this matter," Wesker said. "I'm sure I can trust you to be discreet."

Carlos wheeled around. "But this is her money—her company! She needs to know!" he blurted out.

"This is for her own protection." Wesker said coolly, folding his hands behind his back. "You see, the Global Pharmaceuticals Consortium helps fund the BSAA. If the BSAA ever made the connection between these secret projects and Tricell..."

Just then, the door behind them swung open, letting in a beam of white light that penetrated all the way to the back of the room.

"Sir, your daughter is asking for you," the researcher said.

"I am sure she is." Wesker strode to the door and began asking him questions in a low voice. While they spoke, Carlos stole a glance back at the glass cylinder. There was finally enough light to see what was inside...

" _Dios_ _mío_ ," Carlos whispered.

Wesker turned with a sigh. "What now, Oliveira?"

"N-nothing," he stammered, then recovered himself and stared straight into the black lenses that hid Wesker's eyes. "I get it, boss man. It would ruin your plans."

"More than that. Tricell would be destroyed. Somehow I doubt Excella would appreciate that." He beckoned to Carlos while the researcher held the door for them. "Well then, shall we?"

_Or maybe just you would be destroyed,_ Carlos thought as he walked reluctantly into the hall.

He knew what he'd seen in that room. He knew _who_ he'd seen.

* * *

The bedroom was the same as she'd left it that morning. A garment bag hung from the hook on the back of the door. The bed was unmade. A bottle of rose perfume and a pile of old train tickets Sherry liked to use as bookmarks sat on top of the dresser. And yet everything felt different.

Wesker had dropped her at the apartment before heading back to Tricell's headquarters, leaving Sherry to pack for the trip as if nothing had happened.

They were finally going back to London. She should've been happy. Instead, all she felt was dread. Yes, Wesker had come back from the brink, but he was not the same man.

The scientists had cleaned the cougar's blood off her, but Sherry swore she could still feel it on her skin. The horror of that white room replayed in her mind as she forced herself to toss clothes into the open suitcase on the bed.

_He promised to never experiment on me. He promised..._

Then she noticed one of Wesker's cell phones sitting on the bed stand. He must've forgotten it that morning. It was his personal cell phone, the one he used most often to call her. She didn't know the passwords to any of his phones. Wesker insisted it was safer that way.

_Oh why the hell not?_ With a sigh, Sherry picked it up and pressed the phone's power key. The screen brightened with a request for a four-digit passcode. She typed in 1-9-8-6 and let out a gasp when the screen actually unlocked.

The phone's background was a photo of a blond woman in a bathrobe leaning against the railing of a hotel room's balcony. Her back was to the camera but Sherry still recognized herself. She didn't remember him taking the picture. Maybe it was from last spring's trip to Florence?

Sherry let the phone drop to the bed. It didn't matter. The man who'd taken that photo was gone, and she could only hope to get him back.

She crossed the room and opened her dresser's top drawer. Underneath an innocent pile of socks, Jack's knife sheath still hid a folded-up business card.

Next, Sherry grabbed her own BlackBerry and typed a short email. _Situation is deteriorating._ _Cannot wait any longer. I am moving forward with or without your help._

She selected three recipients from her address book and hit the send button. Then Sherry sat down on the side of the bed and cried until her body felt numb.


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

_She takes just like a woman, yes she does  
She makes love just like a woman, yes she does  
And she aches just like a woman  
But she breaks just like a little girl_

_-"Just Like A Woman," Bob Dylan_

* * *

_September 6, 2006_

_London_

Chris Redfield had met his share of whistleblowers over the years. He was used to their shifting eyes and halting speech, used to them saying things like "I might get killed for tell you this," and had learned that more often than not, they weren't exaggerating. But the young woman who sat across from him now was so calm that she was making _him_ nervous.

Chris pushed his empty coffee cup toward the center of the table and contemplated getting a refill. He'd been in London for two days but still felt jet-lagged. The transatlantic lifestyle was starting to wear thin. Not for the first time, he wished the BSAA's international headquarters was in the U.S., but he knew it was important for the world to think of the BSAA as a global venture and not just another American power play.

He'd picked a secluded table at the back of the cafe so the informant would feel more comfortable. She'd contacted the BSAA only a few days ago, but his colleagues quickly decided her claims were serious—serious enough that Chris needed to fly in from New York and hear them in person. He studied her face for a moment. There was something oddly familiar about this young woman, though Chris was sure he'd never seen her before in his life. She was dressed casually in jeans and a blue hoodie, but her prefect posture and long, wavy blond hair made the word _princess_ flash through his mind. _She's a Tricell whistleblower? Really?_

Chris already had plenty of reasons to be skeptical. This wasn't the first time troubling rumors had filtered out of Tricell, but previous leaks proved to be dead ends. Plus, the BSAA had been dogged by an almost comical number of betrayals and scandals since its founding. He could not afford another misstep.

_Or more losses._ Chris remembered the little pep talk his sister had given him over the phone that morning. _You are a good person and it wasn't your fault_ , Claire told him. _Make your work a tribute to her life. It's what Jill would want._

No, what Jill wanted was for him to finally make a goddamn _move_. The years had been full of moments when their eyes met but they said nothing. If only he'd touched her hand, or pulled her close just once. Then maybe...

Chris drew in a long breath. "So, Anne," he said, using the name the young woman had given him, though it was probably an alias. "can you prove these experiments are actually happening?"

"Of course," she said after taking a sip of her tea. "I was Excella Gionne's assistant for a year. I can get access to her files—and more."

Chris felt a flash of frustration. He still couldn't get a read on this "Anne" girl. What was up with her accent? Was she British, or from some other European country?

"I should hope so," he told her. "These are very serious allegations."

"They're not _allegations_ ," Anne said tersely.

"We'll see." Chris tapped the table, hesitating. Then he made himself meet Anne's hard blue gaze. "One more question: There's a man who was involved in bioterrorism for years. He died recently, but there's a chance he was associated with Tricell. His name was Albert Wesker. Ring any bells?"

The young woman shook her head. "Can't say that it does." She leaned forward. "Excella is the driving force behind the experiments. It's all her doing. She's greedy and reckless. I can prove she forged her father's will, too, so she could get a controlling stake in Tricell."

Chris crossed his arms. "Then bring me one of those documents to the BSAA office in Islington...tomorrow. How about 9am? Can you do that?"

Now Anne's composure began to slip. She bit her lip and glanced at a poster on the wall. "I... _can_ , actually," she said.

Chris dropped his voice, trying to sound soothing. "Listen, if you're in danger, we can keep you safe."

"Funny, you're not the first person who's told me that," Anne replied, flashing him a wry smile as she pushed back from the table and stood up. "See you tomorrow, Mr. Redfield. Thanks for the tea."

* * *

Excella was out in the hall, arguing on her cell phone and switching between English and Spanish—a language Wesker often forgot she knew. He cared so little about her beyond her few uses. Still, Wesker could guess who she was talking to. She and Carlos weren't fooling anyone.

For his own sake, Wesker hoped he wasn't overhearing a breakup. He was grateful for anything that kept Excella away from him, even though Carlos was proving to be quite a handful too.

Wesker tried to focus on the new report of Jill's progress he'd just opened on his laptop, but the shrill voice in the hall divided his attention. Was it really so hard to refrain from shouting one's indiscretions from the mountaintops? He bristled and imagined stomping into the hall, grabbing the phone out of Excella's hand and dashing it against the wall.

Instead, Wesker reached for his own BlackBerry and typed out a text message.

_Where are you? Still at home?_

After a moment, the screen flashed a reply.

_I'm out having fun. Piss off._

Wesker tossed the phone on the table and leaned back in his chair, allowing himself to let out a frustrated sigh. So Sherry was still mad at him. He thought she would've forgiven him by now, especially since they were finally back in London—her "home," as she insisted on call it. But she'd acted distant ever since their arrival, turning away from him in bed and dashing off on her own during the day.

_Fine, she can have her precious space._ Besides, Wesker wasn't here just to mollify her. No, he needed the viral samples stored in the townhouse's bomb shelter-like basement.

Acquired on missions and misadventures, the assortment of vials and tissue samples was, as far as Wesker knew, the world's most complete collection of Umbrella's viruses. There were also organisms—the so-called Plaga parasites—that were native to a rural area of the Spanish Pyrenees.

The samples were kept in cryogenic suspension for safety's sake, which meant he had to thaw them out one by one and check their viability. He would take the most robust viruses back to the Zurich lab and create new BOWs to test Sherry's abilities.

So far, she'd demonstrated control over T virus-infected animals...and him. But that told him nothing. As much as Wesker still resented the Red Princess theory, it was time to revisit it on his own terms. He would pit Sherry against more specimens, more pathogens, until he discovered the mechanism behind her power. Then he would take that power for himself, and never fall victim to it again.

Sherry would understand someday. She'd realize this approach was far better than the alternative Jill was now being subjected to and thank him for keeping her by his side. But until then, Wesker knew she would put up a fight. The echo of Sherry's screams still rang unbidden in his ears. _You promised!_

_This is for the best, little chatelaine. I can promise you that much._

Excella came back into the conference room and shut the door behind her.

"So when do we meet with this silent partner of yours?" Wesker asked absently, wishing he could get back to Jill's progress report.

"All in due time," Excella crooned as she sat down across from him. "I'm afraid there's another matter to discuss first."

Excella had called him unexpectedly that morning. She'd just arrived in London to ink a deal with a new investor and needed him to come to Tricell's Canary Wharf office right away.

Wesker half-wondered if she was stalking him, but they did need more outside funding. Apparently this investor was willing to foot the bill for reopening the West African facility, which was enough to convince Wesker to put in a pair of brown contact lenses and leave the townhouse's basement. But now it appeared there was a game to play first.

"What is it?" he asked, trying not to sound too resigned.

Excella crossed her legs and regarded him with a grin. "There's a mole in our operations. I believe they informed the BSAA about the mission in August." There was an odd air of triumph in her voice.

"I'm afraid this is hardly a surprise," he told her. "We can start by investigating the scientists—"

Excella cut in with a dismissive wave. "I already have a suspect." She leaned across the narrow table, almost spilling out of her low-cut dress. "Albert, you must believe me," she said earnestly. "The Cold War is over, but we still live in its long shadow. Many of the old rules still apply."

Wesker folded his arms. He did not like where this was going. "Such as?"

"Anyone can be bought."

He slammed his laptop shut and sprang to his feet. "She is my _daughter_!" Wesker shouted. "Do you have _any_ idea what you are insinuating?"

"I do," Excella said calmly. "I also know your dear child hates me."

"Petty jealously? Is that all the proof you have?" Wesker spat back as he started to pace. "You didn't want me to meet the investor. This is what you really wanted to talk about, isn't it?"

Excella stood up with a sigh. "Please hear me out, Albert. I know this is difficult for you, but I have call logs—and witnesses." She strode up behind him and planted a hand on his shoulder. Wesker stopped and turned his head to meet her gaze, but was too angry to say anything.

He only wanted to see Sherry, wanted to feel the reassuring weight of her long hair in his hands. She would have an explanation for this ridiculousness. It was all a misunderstanding. It had to be.

"Perhaps it's not as bad as it seems, but we cannot move forward until this is...dealt with." Excella's mouth was close to his ear now, and the tawdry vanilla musk of her perfume made him cringe. He felt her body draw up against his, full of promises and possibilities and poison.

"Very well, just give me a moment to pull this knife out of my back," he quipped bitterly. Wesker shrugged off her hand and walked back to the conference table. "I'll have Sherry meet us at the house," he said.

"You'll...what?" Excella spluttered.

He shoved his laptop and phone into his briefcase and turned to give Excella a long, hard look. "I've always believed accusations are best made face-to-face. Wouldn't you agree?"

* * *

"There'd better be some mad ghost action up in there or I'm gonna want my money back."

Sherry laughed and gave Sean a playful shove. "I hate to disappoint you, but I've been to the Tower of London plenty of times and I've never seen a ghost."

"Maybe we'll get lucky," he said.

The day had turned out cloudy but warm and Sherry wanted to soak in every sight and smell. They'd met under the London Eye Ferris wheel and were walking east along the bank of the Thames.

Sherry was surprised by how happy she was to see Sean again. He was bursting with enthusiasm for the city and his new position at Tricell. But they both knew this wasn't a social call. Sean's gait slowed as they passed under the Waterloo Bridge.

"So," he began cautiously. "Bianca and Ashwin won't help, huh?"

"Looks that way," Sherry said with a shrug. "I thought I could rely on Bianca at least, but it's just too much for them. They're afraid of getting fired. Oh, that reminds me: You deleted my email, right?"

Sean smiled at her. "Don't worry, I'm on your level."

They paused by a row of trees at the river's edge. Sherry gazed across the water and felt tempted to play the tour guide. _That's Victoria Embankment. Temple Church is over there, and Fleet Street, and..._

This was the way it should be: no walking on eggshells, no struggling just to make it through the day. Sherry closed her eyes for a moment and pretended a different man was standing next to her.

She was going to save him. She would bring him home for good and help Wesker find a new hobby that didn't involve scalpels or guns or other people's money.

_We'll be happy again,_ Sherry thought, then frowned. _If we were ever happy in the first place._

"How'd it go this morning?" Sean asked, pulling her out of her reverie.

A knot of tension flexed in Sherry's stomach. "It went well. I'm taking them some evidence tomorrow," she said, forcing herself to look him in the eye. "I just need you to be ready. Can you do that?"

" _Can_ I?" Sean feigned indignation but quickly turned serious. "Why else do you think I took the day off to see you?" He reached out and lightly touched her arm. "Look, I know things got weird between us last year, but it would kill me if anything happened to you. That's why I'm here."

Sherry pushed her hands into her hoodie's pockets and looked back at the river. She hadn't expected this. "I owe you an apology," she said. "I know my dad scared you off."

"He didn't scare me off. You did."

A little shock shot through her as she whirled to face him. "I did _what_?"

"Oh my God, this is amazing!" Sean stepped back and ran his hands down his face. "I'm trying to be nice here. I'm really, really trying."

"Get on with it, mate," Sherry sneered in her best London brogue.

Sean looked down at the ground, collecting himself. "You weren't available," he said. "You know, emotionally. You just weren't _there_ , okay?"

Sherry blinked. She couldn't exactly deny that. "But you said you wouldn't give up on me," was all she could think to say.

"You're talking about Erica, right?" Sean said, his voice defensive. "It was just a thing, nothing serious." He drew in a long breath. "Actually, I broke up with her right before I moved here."

Sherry let the silence hang between them while she chose her next words. "What if...?" she began coyly. "I mean, can we make today our first date?"

Sean's face brightened. "Sure, why not?"

He threaded his arm through hers as they began to walk.

* * *

She let Sean navigate their way across the rest of the South Bank, giving her time to reflect on her breakfast meeting with Chris Redfield.

_The_ Chris Redfield, the man Wesker hated more than anyone else in the world. But Sherry didn't understand the obsession. As far as she could tell, Chris was an average man, blunt and benign. He was just another means to an end, though she did wish she could've asked him about his sister. Was she well? Did Claire even remember her?

Sherry pushed Claire's face out of her mind and went over her plan one more time. Back in March, while they waited for the flight back to Zurich and Carlos flirted with a cute ticket agent, she surreptitiously emailed the Urobouros files to herself. She'd kept them on her laptop all year in a folder labeled "funny cat pictures," waiting until the time was right. Sherry would hand them over the Chris tomorrow and wait for her rival's world to crumble. And since she now knew the BSAA believed Wesker was dead, it would be even easier pin everything on Excella.

They crossed the river at Millennium Bridge and soon got lost in a maze of side streets.

"Crap, okay. I know where I'm going," Sean assured her. "I think this is a shortcut..."

She giggled obligingly. It was enough to have Sean back on her side.

As they headed down a narrow, deserted street, two men stepped out of an alleyway a few paces ahead and walked towards them.

Sherry stopped in her tracks, but it took Sean a few seconds to catch on.

"What? What's wrong?" he asked her.

"Yup," Sherry heard one of the men say to the other. She noticed a piece of paper clutched in the taller man's hand. No, not paper. A photo.

A photo of her.

Sean wavered and put a protective arm around her shoulder. "Let's get out of here," he whispered.

She ignored him. "I know the score," Sherry told the men, her eyes darting from face to face. "I'm not supposed to be here."

"Walk away, buddy," the shorter one said to Sean. "This isn't your fight." His voice was gruff and unmistakably American.

"The hell it isn't!" Sean stepped in front of her, but the tall man felled him with one quick blow. Jack's training took over when she saw Sean sprawled unconscious on the pavement. Sherry crouched into a defensive stance.

"Make this easy on yourself," the taller American growled. He lunged for her, but Sherry grabbed the small knife tucked inside her boot and rammed it through his outstretched palm as she rose.

She barely heard his screams as the second man advanced. Sherry feinted to the right then kicked him in the chest, knocking him into some garbage cans.

Then she was running, running, running.

* * *

The front door was unlocked. He knew Sherry would never be that careless and immediately began looking for signs of forced entry.

"Albert, is this really necessary?" Excella trilled behind him. "You said she wasn't even answering her phone..."

"Quiet," Wesker snapped as he pushed the door open.

The foyer was empty, but Sherry's purse lay on the middle of the floor, its contents—cell phone, wallet and all—scattered across the marble.

_No._

He called out Sherry's name, called out for anyone, then remembered the staff now only worked in the morning and it was well past noon.

There was no trace of her in the study or the kitchen. Excella's voice echoed in the foyer but he did not hear what she said.

Moving in a haze of panic, Wesker raced up the stairs and saw the door to his bedroom was ajar. But he'd closed it before he left, he was sure of it.

He flung the door wide, but the room was just as empty as the rest of the house. Then Wesker saw the wall safe was open. The painting that usually hid it was on the carpet, its frame cracked and bent. He only had to glace inside to know one of Sherry's fake passports and several thousand U.S. dollars were missing.

_No!_

He forced himself to stand still and think. Someone must've taken Sherry from the house. She would never leave on her own. He had to activate her tracking devices, the implanted one and the backup in her locket.

Excella walked into the room wide-eyed and concerned, but the sight of her only made him seethe. What if she was right...?

No, he had to find Sherry. That was all that mattered. Wesker walked the length of the room, casting about for a note or clue she might've left for him. Then he saw the smear of blood on the bathroom's brass doorknob.

_No no no no no!_

A 16-year-old boy came home early from school to check on his mother. He held a copy of _Wuthering Heights_ in one hand as he walked into a bathroom that was tiled all in white. The girl he had a crush on said the book was "the most romantic story ever," so of course he had to read it to impress her.

Wesker could not recall that girl's face, let alone her name, but he remembered some lines from that damn book.

_Do not leave me in this abyss where I cannot find you..._

He mouthed Sherry's name as he opened the door.

The floor was littered with swirls of long blond hair and a pool of blood was dripping its way from the countertop into the sink basin. A red-stained kitchen knife sat on the counter's edge, along with a pair of poultry shears that still had a few strands of hair caught in the blades.

Sherry's gold locket lay among the countertop's chaos. The chain was broken as if someone had torn it from her throat. And there was something in that pool of blood—a small, pill-shaped object. Wesker sank to his knees when he realized it was the tracking device he'd implanted behind her ear.

His fists hit the floor as his body buckled and the scream he'd held in for so long—for months and years and maybe even his whole cursed existence—broke free.

_I cannot live without my life!_

* * *

_September 6, 2006_

_London Heathrow Airport_

Sherry tried to picture the Manhattan skyline in her mind. She'd seen it so many times on TV and in movies but had never actually visited. What she would do when she arrived there, she didn't know and didn't care. She'd lost her gambit and been betrayed. The only thing left to do was run.

"Hello again, ladies and gentlemen," a flight attendant said over the PA system. "We've almost finished boarding and we'll be pushing back from the gate shortly. Please take your seats if you haven't already."

Where had she slipped up? Who threw her under the bus? She was almost certain the two men who'd confronted her and Sean weren't BSAA. That didn't seem like Chris's style. So were they CIA? More ex-Umbrella? There was no way to know, but Sherry hoped they hadn't hurt Sean—or worse, taken him with them.

_No, they were after me, not him._

Sherry stared at the plane's wing from her window seat and flexed her hand over her armrest. The ragged cut behind he ear was smarting and bleeding again. She grabbed her backpack off the floor and pulled out a handful of tissues, pressing them to the side of her neck.

She hadn't had much time to pack. Aside from tissues to staunch the bleeding, she had a change of clothes, some cash, a fake passport that was convincing enough to get her through airport security and the credit card she'd used to buy the plane ticket.

But there was one thing she'd forgotten in her panic: the Red Queen laptop. It was still sitting on her old bed in the London townhouse, the purloined copy of the Urobouros files just waiting to incriminate her. No matter; someone had clearly discovered her plans already. Maybe Wesker knew and had sent those men, just like he'd sent her and Carlos after the rouge scientist...

Sherry winced and pressed the tissues harder against the gash she'd made to remove the tracking chip. She felt panic getting the best of her and tried to ground her racing mind.

_He wouldn't do that to me, he wouldn't..._

Just like he "wouldn't" experiment on her? Just like he "wouldn't" ever touch Excella?

Sherry dabbed at her wound. The bleeding had stopped, but she needed to clean and bandage it soon. She stuffed the tissues in the seat pocket and pulled her hood over the ruin of her hair. She'd chopped it off in a desperate bid to hide her identity, and the sudden absence of its familiar weight was downright unnerving—another casualty in a day of disaster.

Sherry looked down at her left hand. _You played the game and played it badly_ , the ring's flickering diamonds seemed to say. _He'll never forgive you._

It was almost laughable. She'd left everything else behind, thrown her locket aside like a piece of garbage and sliced open her own skin, yet Sherry could not make herself pull a ring off her finger.

The flight attendants were closing the overhead compartments, but the two seats next to Sherry were still empty. Just then, a middle-aged woman with glasses sat down in the aisle seat. Sherry barely glanced at her. It seemed the seat between them would stay unoccupied. Just as well. She wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone.

Sherry pulled the airline blanket out of its plastic baggie and spread it over her chest. Exhaustion claimed her as the in-flight safety video started to play.

The airplane's cabin was chilly when she woke. It reminded her of the crisp Christmas morning in Zurich when they'd walked side-by-side, two shadows in a world of white. Was that really almost two years ago?

She realized she'd slept through take-off and wondered how long they'd been in the air. Sherry kept her eyes closed while she stretched her stiff body. She hadn't felt pain like this since her parents died. It was like something had been ripped out of her chest and the wound cauterized with a red-hot poker.

_But I had to run_ , Sherry reminded herself. _I lost him. He lost himself. It's over._

Something move next to her. Sherry's eyes snapped open and she saw the woman was now sitting in the middle seat and staring intently at her.

Sherry sucked in a breath and pressed herself against the plane's bulkhead but said nothing. The cabin's lights were dimmed for the night flight, but Sherry guessed the woman was in her mid-40's at least. Her hair was completely white, styled in a long bob that framed her angular face. She was more handsome than beautiful, and there was something strangely familiar about her. She wore black pants and a dark purple blouse. When she folded her hands in her lap, Sherry saw the woman's nails were painted black.

Then, as Sherry's eyes adjusted to the low light, she realized the woman wasn't just wearing glasses. She was wearing _sunglasses_.

"I don't care what you want," Sherry began, he voice barely above a whisper. "When we land, just walk away or I _will_ kill you." She nearly left it at that, then reconsidered. "But if he sent you, I want you to tell him I'm not coming back. I'm done with his lies. I'm done trying to save him. Tell him this is his fault because he forgot what really matters. Someone tried to kill me today and he didn't even know about it. Hell, maybe he ordered it for all I know." Sherry knew she'd said too much, but there was no point in stopping now. "I hope he and that stupid cow are happy together," she hissed. "He'll know who I'm talking about."

"And so do I." The woman spoke with an American accent. "At long last," she said with a satisfied sigh. "The Red Princess, in the flesh. Little Persephone has returned from the underworld. But what was it like to live with Hades? You'll have to tell me all about it."

"Who are you?" Sherry asked hoarsely, but the woman ignored her.

"He's probably tracking your passport. Use this at customs instead." She pulled a U.S. passport out of her purse. Sherry grabbed it and flipped it open. The name was different, but the photo inside was from her Tricell employee ID.

Sherry gasped. "How did you get this picture?"

The woman leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs. "All part of the package when Excella sold you to me."

"Sold?" The word nearly choked her. " _Sold_?"

"A bargain price, only $20 million." Her voice was deep and cold. "And by the way, my men weren't trying to kill you; they were sent to capture you. You put them both in the hospital. A few more hours and you would've slipped through my fingers, too."

Hot tears were running down Sherry's face now, but she couldn't find the strength to wipe them away.

"Go ahead and make a hue and cry," the woman whispered, bending close. "Tell them who you are and Federal agents will meet you at the gate. Then you'll never be heard from again. Or you can come with me and be safe...and learn the truth."

"Who the hell _are_ you?" Sherry asked again.

The woman's blood red lips curled into a grin. "Why, I'm your Aunt Alex."

* * *

"Welcome home," the customs officer said blandly as he stamped Sherry's passport. It was nearly 11pm when they left the terminal and walked to the edge of a seemingly endless stream of car, taxis and shuttle buses.

"So this is JFK Airport," Sherry muttered as she looked around. "This is New York City."

"No hon, this is Queens," Alex said curtly. "Oh good, there's my car."

They got into the Towncar's back seat and Alex took off her sunglasses. Sherry shrank back when she saw Alex's irises were and unnatural bright purple shot through with flecks of gold.

"We're going to the house tonight," Alex told the driver before she turned back to Sherry. "Oh come _on_ , don't tell me this surprises you," she said, pointing to her face.

"You're one of the others...one of the Wesker Children..." Sherry stammered.

"I'm _the_ other one." Alex crossed her arms. "I'm also the reason you were able to get on that plane. Think about it: A young woman boarding a transatlantic flight with no luggage and a one-way ticket. You were a walking red flag. The only reason—and I mean the _only_ reason—you're still alive is because of people like my brother and I."

Sherry felt panic overtake her and she started hyperventilating. Why had she decided to trust this woman? She was trapped all over again.

Alex rolled her glowing eyes. "Oh God, don't tell me you're going to jump out of the car."

The mocking tone in Alex's voice replaced Sherry's fear with annoyance. She forced herself to sit up straight and steady her breath. "No, I've done enough stupid things for one day."

"Good." The older woman favored Sherry with another knowing smile. "Because I'm the closest thing you have to a friend right now."

* * *

It was a long drive through New York's eastern boroughs and into the lower Hudson Valley. Almost as soon as they left city limits, the world outside the car turned pitch-dark, illuminated only by the headlights of other passing cars. Sherry gazed out the window and saw the stars overhead.

"Can we talk in front of him?" She motioned to the driver's headrest.

Alex was clicking through messages on her cell phone now. "Oh, of course," she said blithely. "All my boys are totally trustworthy. My girls on the other hand...well, you'll see."

"So how did...?" She feared she was going to cry again and turned back to the window. "Just tell me the whole thing, please."

"Yes, of course. I promised you the truth," Alex said. "Publicly, I pose as a biopharma investor. I followed Excella's work with my brother from the start, just sitting on the sidelines and slipping her the occasional friendly pointer." She put her phone back in her purse and sighed, looking tired for the first time. "Hiding my involvement from him was no mean feat, but it helped that Excella never figured out who I really am. Still, I was surprised when she started talking about you."

Sherry couldn't hide her alarm. She was getting tried, too. Tired and upset. " _Me_?" she demanded. "What the hell did that bitch say?"

"It was last winter," Alex went on calmly, ignoring Sherry's pique. "The incident with the escaped test subjects. I still remember the email she sent: 'I have this awful girl on my hands.'" Her violet eyes flared in the darkness. "That's when I found out my theory had borne fruit and proposed our little business transaction."

"Theory..." Sherry looked down at her lap. She felt like she was going to be sick.

"Then my ever-helpful brother put you on a tight leash, so we had to wait," Alex reached over and squeezed Sherry's arm. "But he never figured it out, did he? The truth about you, I mean."

White-hot anger shot through her as she recoiled from Alex's hand. "He'll find out Excella did this," Sherry insisted. "I'm his daughter. He'll come for me."

"Will he really?" Alex asked with a laugh. "Between you, Excella and I, we covered your tracks pretty well. And cut the 'daughter' crap. I know who you really are."

_I am an idiot who left two tracking devices on the bathroom counter_ , Sherry thought. _I am a fool who betrayed my..._

"You think I'm the Red Princess."

"I _know_ you are, hon." Alex sounded amused. "Who do you think originated the Red Princess theory? Who do you think spread it to the surviving Umbrella personnel around the world? I've been trying to flush you out for years." She held out her hand to Sherry, making some invisible offering. "A savior, just waiting to be found. Who could resist that? I admit, I made up the part about you being the perfect test subject, but who would believe you can—"

"I'm not a guinea pig!" Sherry blurted out. She wrapped her arms around herself and sunk low in her seat. "I'm going to kill Excella for this," she growled. "I am going to _kill_ her..."

Alex grimaced and dropped her head to her chest. "Calm down," she said, softening her voice. "I don't want to experiment on you. I want to teach you."

Sherry looked at the older woman, startled. Was Alex in pain? Had she just...?

"Teach me what?" Sherry asked warily.

Alex cleared her throat and raised her gaze to meet Sherry's. "Control," she said.

* * *

The car took an exit off the highway and sped through pitch-dark side roads the driver clearly knew well. Soon, they turned onto a winding gravel driveway that led to a metal gate. An armed guard stepped out of a stone gatehouse and let them through.

"You'll see more in the morning," Alex assured her, though what "more" meant, Sherry was afraid to ask.

The house was a dark outline against the sky but Sherry could tell it was huge. The car pulled beneath a stone archway that was probably once a carriage port. Another guard stepped out of the shadows and opened Sherry's door. Together, she and Alex mounted a set of wide stone stairs and walked through tall oak doors into an entry hall of Neo-Gothic opulence. Hunter green walls were framed by wood details and stained glass windows. Sherry paused for a moment to take in a huge vase of white _hydrangeas_ on a nearby table and the painted Greek goddesses bounding across the room's ceiling. The guard handed Sherry the backpack she'd forgotten in the car as Alex started walking towards a staircase at the rear of the hall.

"You'll be in the tower room," she said. "It has the best views of the river."

"The _tower_ room? Are you serious?" Sherry stared at the older woman's back, dumbfounded. "What is this, bloody _Beauty and the Beast_?"

Alex turned to scowl at her. She hadn't put her sunglasses back on and her eyes were like two bright beacons. "Would you prefer the old servant quarters in the basement?" Her voice was cold again. "People say they're haunted."

Sherry fixed a sardonic smile on her face. "Okay, the tower room it is."

* * *

Sherry tried to ignore the guard silently trailing behind them as they took the stairs to the third floor.

"The house was built in the 1830's for a railroad magnate," Alex explained as they entered a long hallway. "It passed through his family for a few generations, but the upkeep became too much. The owners were about to donate the property to the National Trust when I offered to take it off their hands. Well, here we are."

She opened a door at the end of the hall and walked inside. Alex was still turning on lamps when Sherry followed her in. She had to admit the room was beautiful. It was shaped like an octagon and the walls were a pale blue painted with tiny gold stars. A upright piano sat in one corner. On either side of the fireplace, huge windows looked out onto the blackness below—the presumed "best view" Alex had spoken of.

Sherry pushed down on the bed's toile comforter with her palm. "It's nice," she said.

"Good." Alex clasped her hands in front of her, clearly pleased. "You'll have the full run of the house during the day, but you're on lockdown at night—for your own safety, of course. Don't worry, there's an en suite bathroom." She pointed to a narrow door on the right side of the bed. "I'll show you the grounds tomorrow."

Sherry tried not to think about what time it was in London as she set down her backpack and crossed to the piano.

"I just had it tuned," Alex chimed in. She watch as Sherry sat down at the piano bench and pulled back her hood. "Trust me, you want to be on my side," Alex said after a moment.

"I can't go back, anyway," Sherry murmured as she tried a few keys.

The older woman walked to Sherry's side and clicked her tongue. "I'll get you in with my stylist down in the city. He'll fix this mess up." Alex reached out and ran her hand through the remains of Sherry's locks, but there was no affection in her touch. She was merely a businesswoman assessing her purchase.

"No handouts," Sherry said, brushing Alex away. "If I have to be part of your collection, it's going to be on my terms. Give me something to do."

"Oh you're going to earn your keep, all right," Alex chirped as she left the room.

Sherry watched her go, heard the locks click into place after Alex shut the door, then turned back to the piano. Slowly, clumsily, and with a leaden pain in her chest, she began to play the _Moonlight Sonata_.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

_She pictures the broken glass  
Pictures the steam  
She pictures a soul  
With no leak at the seam_

_-"Mercy Street," Peter Gabriel_

* * *

Everything came crashing down the next morning while she tried to brush her teeth. Hungry, jet-lagged and terrified, Sherry curled up on the bathroom floor and bawled like a baby.

No, babies couldn't cry like this. Only someone who knew what they'd lost could feel this kind of grief, this kind of horror.

_It's all my fault,_ her mind heaved in time with her body. _It's over, it's over, it's over._

She'd lain there for what felt like hours when she heard a door open. The toe of a shoe nudged her in the small of the back.

"Hey." It was not Alex's voice.

Sherry rolled over and looked up through puffy eyes at a tall, thin young woman. She wore a purple windbreaker and black leggings. Her thick brown hair was twisted into a braid that fell over her shoulder and annoyance flashed in her pale gray eyes. _She could almost be Amelia's sister_ , Sherry realized.

"Alex sent me to check on you," the woman said. "Let's get you off the floor for starters."

"Leave me alone," Sherry groaned as she turned back onto her side. Just another American, another person trying to tell her what to do.

"I'd love to, but orders are orders. Just sit up for a few minutes, okay?" With surprising strength, she pulled Sherry up by her shoulders and pushed her back against the wall. "I'm Jessica, by the way."

Sherry admitted defeat and cross her legs. "You work for Alex?"

"I work for lots of people," Jessica said as she stood and opened a nearby medicine cabinet. "But yeah, at the end of the day, Alex is my boss. Anyway, you have a laceration on your neck?"

Sherry didn't feel like answering that question, though the cut was aching worse than ever. "Where are you from?" she said instead.

Jessica pulled a first aid kit out of the cabinet and crouched down next to her. "Santa Monica, but my parents came over from India before I was born. Yeowch, how'd this happen?"

Sherry winced as Jessica examined the wound with the tips of her fingers. Jack's voice came rushing back to her with a vengeance. _But this...this I did to myself._

"You're a medic?" she asked as Jessica began dabbing the cut with disinfectant. It burned, but Sherry just gritted her teeth.

"If I have to be one, sure," Jessica said, sounding amused. "Does it hurt? Sorry, that's a stupid question. Hold still."

Sherry decided to distract herself with small talk while Jessica worked. "That's a nice jacket," she made herself say.

"Thanks, it's from Lulu Lemon. All their clothes are damn expensive, but their yoga pants make you ass look like you do squats for a living."

"Oh, cool." Sherry looked at the bloodied alcohol wipes Jessica had tossed on the tile floor. "Do you know what's going to happen to me?"

Jessica shrugged. "No clue. But if she wanted to hurt you, she would've done it by now." She gathered the discarded wipes in one hand and stood again. "Okay, all finished."

Sherry let her head fall back against the wall. Sunlight streamed in through a high window on the other side of the bathroom. "I'm not supposed to be here, " she murmured under her breath. "I miss him. I miss..."

"Who? The guy who gave you that tacky ring?" Jessica rolled her eyes and slung the first aid kit back in the cabinet. "Boys are stupid. Forget about him." She made for the bathroom door but stopped when Sherry stared to speak.

"Hey, wait. Can I trust Alex? I mean, is she one of the good guys?" Sherry knew the question sounded ridiculous but it seemed to catch Jessica off guard. Then she looked down at Sherry and smirked.

"Are you serious? Look, I know this much: the bad guys pay better."

Sherry sighed and shook her head. "What do I do now?" she wondered aloud.

"Geez, you ask a lot of questions. Shower, get dressed and come downstairs," Jessica said with an indifferent shrug. "Alex is making breakfast."

* * *

From behind, Alex could've been any normal middle-aged woman, any mother or aunt or someone's best friend. She was even wearing a goddamn apron. But when she turned away from the stove, Sherry had to force down a gasp because Alex greeted her with Wesker's wry smile.

How was it possible for them to look so alike? Sherry thought the subjects in the Wesker children project had been plucked from all over the world and weren't actually related. And yet Alex called him her brother...

Alex's amethyst eyes glowed faintly, even in the bright daylight that filled the huge kitchen. "Did you sleep well?" she asked.

"Yeah, I got a few hours." Sherry pulled up a stool and sat down next to Jessica, who'd already taken a place a the kitchen's long granite-topped island and grabbed a fashion magazine.

Alex turned back to the stove. "So do you want coffee or orange juice? Oh, I have a bunch of tea in that cabinet, too. How about toast? We've got just about everything except bacon. I was raised in a kosher household and I still can't bring myself to touch the stuff."

Sherry looked away in disgust and didn't respond. How could Alex act so nonchalant, so normal? She glance around the kitchen and took in its elegant white molding and green tile floor. French doors to Sherry's left led to a brick patio. Through the doors, she saw a wide, rolling lawn that stretched all the way down to the riverbank.

At the rear of the room, a couch and a few upholstered chairs faced three flat-panel TVs that were mounted on the wall. Each TV was tuned to a different news channel, but with the sound turned off and closed captions running along the bottom of the screens.

Sherry noticed a broad coffee table in front of the couch. It was scattered with newspapers from all over the world, dogeared issues of _The Economist_ , medical journals and a couple laptops. This wasn't just a kitchen. It was a war room.

Alex set a fork and a plate of pancakes in front of her. Sherry's stomach started rumbling. She hadn't eaten anything since the plane's awful in-flight meal.

"So what do you do anyway?" she asked between bites.

"I lead a group of concerned citizens who want to see Umbrella's work put to new uses," Alex said as she pulled off her apron and smoothed down the fabric of her navy blue turtleneck.

"I don't think I like the sound of that." Sherry reached for a carton of orange juice Alex had put on the counter. There was no glass so she tipped back her head and drank straight from the carton.

Jessica looked up from her magazine. "Excuse me, were you raised by wolves?"

"Get off my back!" Sherry snapped at her. "Do you have any idea what I've been through—"

"Ladies, please." Alex's voice carried a force that snapped them both to attention. "Sherry, finish your breakfast. Jessica, keep your opinions to yourself."

Jessica returned to her magazine with a little harrumph.

"Now then," Alex said. "Jessica knows this story, but I'm sure she won't mind hearing it one more time." She pulled up a stool on the other side of the island and sat down. "Like my brother, I was recruited by Umbrella after I finished high school. I advanced quickly and became Spencer's special assistant. That's when he told me about Project W—that was his codename for the experiment. Apparently I showed the most potential of all the surviving test subjects and he wanted me to start working by his side." This got Sherry's attention and she set her fork down. The story sounded all too familiar.

"Well, as you can imagine, the truth was a total shock, but I'd always suspected I was adopted," Alex went on. "Spencer gave me an alias so no one would figure out who I really was. Officially, 'Alex' was male and working in another Umbrella facility far away from Raccoon City." Alex rested her chin on her palm and grinned at Sherry. "I hid in plain sight for years. But over time, I started to question Umbrella's direction. It was a disaster waiting to happen." Her violet eyes fell to the granite counter. "I tried to reason with Spencer, tried to get him to scale back operations, but by then he was losing his mind. It felt like I was the only one who noticed." Alex sighed and pushed back from the island. "Tea?"

Sherry blinked. "Oh, sure!" She realized she'd been sitting on the literal edge of her seat. "So what did you do?"

"The only thing I could do: go behind Spencer's back." She grabbed a tea kettle off the stove and took it to the sink. "I knew he was beyond help after he told me he wanted to be immortal. Oh, and _I_ was supposed to figure that out for him, by the way. So I started to pursue my own goals for the first time in my life." Alex set the full kettle on a burner and sat back down. "I started gathering people around me, some of them from within Umbrella, but mostly from outside. I knew what was coming, so we started planning for what would happen after."

Sherry slid the juice carton aside and looked Alex in the eye. "After what?"

"See, I told you she asks too many questions," Jessica said lazily.

Alex wrinkled her nose. "Oh, go seduce a tree. You might actually get somewhere this time."

Jessica's head shot up and Sherry saw her eyes flare with anger. "Hey, that was _not_ my fault! Nobody told me he was in love with someone else!" She stood and whipped back her braid. "Whatever, I've got an appointment in the city."

"Dinner's at 8!" Alex called after Jessica as marched out of the room. She turned back to Sherry with apologetic grin. "Believe it or not, Ms. Sherawat is one of my best operatives. I even loaned her out to Excella last year."

The tea kettle started to whistle and Alex dashed back to the stove.

Sherry raised her voice over the kettle's shriek. "Wait, what did you say about Excella?"

"It's part of what I do." Alex was a whirl of movement, pulling the kettle off the stove, grabbing two mugs and boxes of tea from a cabinet. She set everything in front of Sherry and flattened her hands on the granite countertop. "Pick the one you want. Anyway, I offer my services to pharmaceutical companies and other groups who are up to no good. In this case, Excella needed someone to infiltrate the BSAA on Tricell's behalf and obtain some viral samples."

_I really did underestimate that bitch_ , Sherry thought bitterly. "And what's the other part?"

"Oh, that's easy: I'm not helping them at all. My 'clients' do the dirty work and take all the risks. Then when they fall flat on their faces, I step in and take the research they were working on. And _voilà_ _,_ one less power-hungry competitor to worry about."

"Classy," Sherry said dryly. "You should make up a name for that."

Alex smiled her too-familiar smile. "I did. I call it the Organization."

* * *

Sherry dug her hands into her pockets as they walked along the lawn. "He'll find out what Excella did," she told Alex. "He'll come for me. You'll see."

The older woman let out a groan and stopped in her tracks. "My God, are you _still_ hung up on that? I gave you a place to sleep, I fed you..." Alex crossed her arms and locked Sherry in her gaze. "Look, he's not coming to get you. She didn't tell me how it happened, but Excella found out you were talking to the BSAA. Which, if I may say, was very sloppy on your part. She's going to tell my brother you switched sides. And after you jackrabbited yesterday, he won't need much convincing. You sealed your own fate, hon."

"I ran because I didn't know who the hell was after me!" Sherry shouted. "And stop calling me 'hon'!"

A guard patrolling nearby lifted his head, but Alex gave him a thumbs-up and waved him along before turning back to Sherry.

"I didn't ask too many questions when Excella called me. I figured we'd have plenty of time to talk once you got here. So tell me now: Why did you do it?"

Sherry tossed the query aside. "I have friends at Tricell. They'll notice I'm gone. They'll start asking questions."

"Will they?" Alex raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You tried to take down Excella fucking Gionne. If she can get to the Red Princess, she can get to anyone."

"I am _not_ the—"

The light in Alex's eyes turned menacing and Sherry felt herself shrink back. "My brother had you for 8 years," she said. "Then you betrayed him out of the blue. Why?"

"I didn't mean to betray him!" Sherry objected. "I was trying to stop _her_."

"But why?"

A chilly breeze blew down the valley and sent every leaf around them rustling. They'd already walked fairly far from the mansion, across a huge lawn that was interrupted only by the estate's gravel driveway and the maple trees that lined it.

Instead of answering Alex, Sherry looked back at the mansion. Its light gray _façade_ was like a Gothic castle in miniature. Stained glass windows shone in the midday sun and bright red ivy clung to the octagonal tower that faced the river. Below the house, the open lawn afforded a clear view of the low, tree-covered mountains that rolled along the Hudson River. The landscape was just starting to change from green to ochre and crimson. There was something grand and wild about this place. It was hard to believe that one of largest cities in the world lay just to the south.

"Excella was leading him down the wrong path," she finally told Alex. "I had to save him. But to do that, I needed..." Sherry remembered the party at Giacomo's mansion when she'd enthralled strangers in her red dress, then recalled the night in the snowy hills. For the first time, the memories melded together in her mind. "Power," she said sharply. "But why do you even care? Making people fail is kind of your thing, right?"

"I don't want them to fail _yet_. Tricell is still useful to me. So is the BSAA. I can pit them against each other while I put other ventures into play." Alex threw back her head and closed her eyes, drawing in a long breath. "Mmm, feel the chill in the air? I love this time of year. And now you're here and everything's going to be _amazing_."

Sherry shivered, but not because of the cold. She looked carefully at Alex. It was uncanny: her jawline, the shape of her eyes, even the way Alex's silver bob framed her face. It looked like his hair when it wasn't combed back.

"You look just like him," she said. Sherry couldn't bring herself to say Wesker's name.

"Oh, really?" Alex sounded pleased. "We were the only real siblings in the project, you know—fraternal twins. Spencer told me one of the other Umbrella co-founders was fascinated by us. We inspired his own little twin project, but it didn't work out so well for him." She sighed and glanced around. "Well, anyhow..."

Sherry suddenly knew what she had to do. She took a step forward. "When you don't need Excella any more, I want to be the one to destroy her." She let her anger pour out, let Alex see the fire in her own eyes. "I'll show him I didn't betray him. I want the power to destroy her. Give it to me, teach me how to use it, and I'll help you."

Alex laughed—a cruel, crystalline sound to match the autumn breeze. "And you say you're not the Red Princess."

"I can teach you something even better: to want power for its own sake," Alex told her as they walked towards the thick woods that hemmed in the estate. "But you're catching on quick; I'll have to eliminate Excella some day. I see no reason why you can't have some revenge, too. She really screwed you over—even I can admit that. What the hell did you do to her, anyway?"

"I want to keep a few bloody thing to myself, okay?" Sherry grumbled.

Alex just shrugged and kept walking. "Everyone tells me everything eventually," she said. "Here, I want to show you what we've been working on."

Alex pointed to the treeline, where Sherry could see a large, two-story brick building looming behind the leaves. They soon found themselves in a gravel lot where a few cars were parked. The building itself was an ornate stable from a bygone era, restored to pristine condition. Sherry heard dogs barking somewhere nearby.

"This is the former carriage house," Alex explained as they approached. "They used to keep the horses in here, too." They walked up to the building, where two armed guards stood on either side of a tall metal door. "How's our boy doing today?" she asked.

"Cranky, ma'am," one of the guards said. "He just about kicked my teeth out this morning."

Alex pursed her lips. "Oh dear, I hope you didn't have to use the stun guns."

The other guard spoke up. "No, ma'am, but I'm not sure I'd bother him right now."

Sherry took one look at Alex and knew they were going in. She also had a sinking feeling about what lay behind those doors. But as always, what other choice did she have?

The inside of the carriage house couldn't have looked anything less like its brick exterior. Harsh lights, metal walls and cold concrete floors brought back memories Sherry had tried hard to push down. It seemed like she would never escape laboratories.

A few people in hazmat suits busied themselves at stainless steel tables and workstations. Alex nodded to each of them as they moved deeper into the lab, sometimes pausing for a moment to chat. She acted cheerful and friendly—so different from Wesker, who made nearly everyone he met nervous, if not outright scared. And Sherry noticed she was not hiding her eyes.

They reached the back of the lab where Sherry heard a commotion behind a set of doors.

"Fisher, you in there?" Alex shouted. A hazmat-suited researcher opened the door.

"Ahh, hi! Good morning. I mean, afternoon," he said. His voice told Sherry he was American. He looked to be about the same age as Alex.

"This is Sherry Birkin. I mentioned she'd be visiting. I think you knew her parents," Alex told the man. "Sherry, this is Dr. Fisher. He's my head researcher."

"Nice to meet you," Dr. Fisher replied hurriedly. "Look, I'm sorry but he's really misbehaving today. Can you come back later?"

Alex narrowed her eyes but said nothing. Dr. Fisher sighed and stepped aside to let them into a room that smelled of hay and manure. There was the usual assortment of bizarre machines and medical monitoring devices, but there was also a box stall, perhaps preserved from the building's days as a carriage house. Inside the stall was a huge black horse straining against two guards who were trying to lead it by the reigns attached to its bridle.

Sherry stopped in her tracks when she saw the creature. The horse whinnied and stamped its front hooves. When it shook its head, Sherry saw it had red eyes.

"We were just trying to get a blood sample," Dr. Fisher said, wringing his hands.

Alex leaned close to Sherry. "This is Midnight. He's a Friesian horse. They're sometimes called Belgian Blacks."

"But he's not normal," Sherry murmured as the horse began to groan and bay, triggering cries of "Easy, easy!" from the guards.

"That true," Alex said. "We're trying to stabilize Umbrella's viruses and create less-contagious versions that enhance strength and stamina without—wait!"

Midnight let out a loud whinny and reared up on his hind legs, yanking the reigns from the guards' grasp. In that same instant, Sherry rushed forward with her hands upraised, shushing the terrified animal like he was an upset child. Her palm found Midnight's muzzle as he came back down.

The horse tossed his head, trying to jerk away from her, but Sherry grabbed the side of his bridle and pulled his muzzle close to her face. Like the night she ran after the infected dog and the time she petted a mutant cougar, she didn't know what she was doing or why she was doing it—only that she _had_ to.

"Shhhh, shhhh," she whispered, looking straight into Midnight's eyes. After a few more spasms of fear, the animal went still under her hands. Sherry sighed and pressed her forehead against the top of his muzzle. Midnight nickered softly and let out a heavy snort. Sherry knew everyone was staring at her but didn't want to look up. Part of her wanted to just stay in this moment.

"Wow," Dr. Fisher breathed. "Do you know how to train horses?"

Reluctantly, Sherry lifted her head. "I...no. I did horseback riding camps when I was little," she told him. "But I'm a fast learner."

"Well, well, well," Alex said. "I guess we really _do_ live in interesting times."

* * *

Somewhere in the night, an angry shadow Sherry could no longer reach was raging and bleeding—maybe even dying. It screamed her name like a curse. Then Sherry smelled something like faded perfume and opened her eyes. The TVs on the wall flashed silently with their jumble of images and words. She swiveled her head and saw Alex sitting on one of the chairs by the couch. The ache in her chest was back, but Sherry told herself it was just heartburn from dinner. Jessica hadn't returned, but Alex didn't seem fazed. And Sherry didn't like her, anyway.

She sat up and rubbed her face. "How long was I asleep?"

"Eh, maybe half an hour." Most of the lights in the kitchen were turned off but Alex's eyes provided the or own soft glow.

"You let people see your eyes," Sherry noted. "How come?"

"This is my home. I only cover them up when I have a reason," Alex said. "What color are my brother's eyes?" she asked slyly.

"The color I'm used to," Sherry replied with a yawn.

Alex frowned. "Funny how you're trying to protect him. You realize you're probably dead to him, right?"

Sherry winced and turned to the French doors. It was dark outside. "Is it time to go back to my gilded cage?" she grumbled.

Alex got to her feet. "Not yet. Come with me."

* * *

"Today was _so_ exciting," Alex said as they walked down a hall on the mansion's second floor. "I love it when I'm right, but let's take this one day at a time." She stopped in front of a wall that was covered in framed photos of all shapes and sizes. Alex flipped a light switch, illuminating dozens of smiling faces.

"There's my high school graduation." She pointed to a picture of a blond girl in a light blue graduation gown, flanked by a man and woman who were clearly not her biological parents. "And here's my first wedding. I know, I know, the puffy sleeves. But it was the 80's and everyone wanted Princess Diana's wedding dress. Or the dress from _Labyrinth_. I honestly can't remember which look I was going for."

Sherry's jaw dropped. "You're _married_?"

"Was," Alex corrected her. "It ended when I changed my mind about having kids."

"But you kept the photo."

Alex cracked a smile. "You divorce husbands, not memories. Besides, look how thin I was! And here's me with Spencer way back in the day. See, he wasn't always ugly. And—"

"Why are you showing me all this?" Sherry demanded.

"Well excuse me for trying to share," Alex huffed. "Let me guess: my brother is better at this bonding thing."

Sherry just glared at her. _Oh, you have no idea._

"I _have_ followed his progress, you know," Alex said. "I know about the things he can do. Sure, he's smart—for a man." She crossed her arms and sneered. "But I am smarter than him and God dammit, I am tougher than him."

Sherry faltered for a moment. Was Alex trying to scare her or tell her something?

_Try again._

She pointed at the graduation photo that showed a joyous blue-eyed girl and her proud parents. "So...that's your mom and dad?"

"Yes, yes," Alex said, pulling herself together. "The family Spencer placed me with. My dad—I mean, the man I called 'dad'—he was a lawyer for Umbrella. That's how Spencer got involved in their lives. I grew up in New York on the Upper East Side." Alex was looking at the photo too, a wistful look in her eyes. "It's sort of funny when you think about it: Spencer didn't want us to have religious upbringings, but the late 50's weren't exactly the heyday for atheists. My parents were liberal Jews. I was bat mitzvahed and everything. Still, deep down I always wondered..." She let out a strained breath and looked at Sherry.

"I remember this one report from the Project W archives. When Umbrella agents went to retrieve Specimen 13—that's what Spencer called my brother—his adoptive mother demanded to know his true origins. And like the idiots they were, they told her. Spencer made sure that never happened again. And I'm grateful for that every day, because if my parents had ever, _ever_ learned the truth..." Alex closed her eyes and shook her head. "No, not even Spencer was that cruel."

"Who were your real parents?" Sherry asked gently. "Where's their picture?"

Alex looked down to the end of the darkened hall, then back at the wall of photos. "I don't keep them here," she said.

* * *

Alex pulled a black archival box out of the closet and set it on her bed. "Here's our birth certificates," she said as she pulled off the lid and dipped her hand inside. "Born in the US of A. Spencer saw to that." The yellowed papers fell on the bedspread like leaves. Sherry's chest throbbed with dread as stared down at them. Suddenly, all she could think about was Wesker. She missed him. Oh God, how she missed him.

"Our real mother." Alex handed her a faded photograph of a young woman with curly hair and a radiant smile. She was leaning against a porch railing, hugely pregnant and so very, very young.

"Wow, your mom was beautiful!" Sherry exclaimed.

"She was also 19," Alex said bluntly. "Years before they met, my father—my real father—worked in Block 10. Ever heard of it?"

Sherry shook her head, though it did sound a bit familiar.

"Auschwitz." The word fell from Alex's lips like a heavy burden. "Block 10 was for medical experimentation. My father was a young physician assisting a certain Josef Mengele. I hope you know about him, at least."

Sherry did. He was the infamous concentration camp doctor who experimented on twins and vivisected pregnant women. Auschwitz's wretched denizens called him the White Angel. The angel of death.

"You father was a..." she whispered.

But Alex seemed not to hear her. "After the war, the ODESSA network helped my father flee to South America. He bounced around there for 13 years and finally ended up in _Buenos Aires_. That's where he befriended a wealthy German expat..." She cleared her throat. "And the man's teenaged daughter. Despite their age difference, they fell in love—so the story goes." Alex took the photo from Sherry's quivering hand. "She wanted her children to grow up in America. Luckily, her dad had connections. They found a protector, someone who said he could make my father's past go away."

"Spencer?" Sherry said, though she already knew the answer.

Alex nodded. "Yes, Spencer. He promised my father a job with Umbrella then sold him out to Mossad as soon as he got to America. His body was found in an irrigation canal outside Los Angeles. Then a nurse 'accidentally' gave our mother an overdose of morphine right after she delivered us. Quite convenient."

Alex took another photo out of the box and gave it to her. It was older than the previous one, black and white and a bit stained. It showed a small group of men standing beside a brick wall, each with a cigarette in hand. The SS uniforms were unmistakable. Nazis on a smoke break. So banal and yet so horrid.

"Can you pick our father out?" Alex asked.

Sherry furrowed her brow and brought the picture closer to her face. The man standing on the left was taller than the others, his build and face eerily familiar. And his eyes...she knew them so well.

She put her thumb over the man's face and waited for Alex to launch into a speech about the sins of the father or history repeating itself. But the older woman said nothing.

Sherry made herself look at Alex's father again. Even in an old photograph, the man's eyes bored into her, speaking of an absolute, unshakable certainty that he was doing the right thing.

* * *

_September 8, 2006_

_Zurich_

"You wanted to see me about the, ah, situation, sir?"

Wesker looked up and saw Carlos standing in the doorway of Excella's office. But who had called him?

"Who informed you about this?" he snapped.

Carlos looked confused. "You did."

Wesker glanced around the office, blinking over dry contact lenses. "Of...course." Yes, now he remembered. The days were beginning to blur together, but he remembered. "My daughter's last known location was a flight to JFK International Airport. I need you to go to the U.S. and retrieve her."

Carlos sauntered closer to the desk, which was strewn with papers and files Wesker had long ceased to even try to keep track of. "Do we have any leads on where is she now?"

"That's _your_ job, isn't it?" Wesker said defensively. He reached into his coat pocket and wrapped his fingers around Sherry's locket. "If you leave now, you can be in New York by Saturday."

Carlos stared at him for a moment. "Sir, it _is_ Saturday," he said. "No offense, but you should've sent me after her as soon as she went missing. The trial's cold. She could be anywhere by now."

"Just find her, goddammit!" he thundered.

"Carlos, please. Leave the poor man alone." Excella appeared in the doorway. "You need to leave."

"But we were—" Carlos began.

Excella narrowed her eyes. "Leave. Now."

He grumbled something Wesker didn't catch and stalked out.

"I have something you need to see," Excella said as she closed the office door behind her. Wesker noticed she had a folder in her hand. She set it on the cluttered desk but he didn't touch it. Excella looked impeccable as always, dressed in an ivory pants suit, and her long hair was down today.

"I got the report from your computer forensics team this morning," Wesker told her. "They said there was no evidence of data being copied or transferred from Sherry's laptop before..."

Before she'd fled, been abducted, or just plain walked away?

_I gave her everything I could._ But the cold pit in his chest reminded him that he'd asked for everything in return.

"Wait, why did you do that?" Wesker snarled. "I need Oliveira to tack her down."

"I'm not sure that's wise."Excella sat down on the edge of the desk and flipped the folder open. "These were taken by a CCTV camera in London the day your daughter disappeared."

Wesker looked down at a stack of photos. They showed two people talking in front of a cafe. He recognized Sherry immediately, dressed in jeans and her favorite hooded sweatshirt. And the man she was speaking to...

_Chris._

Wesker raked his forearm across the desk, sweeping the folder onto the floor. He let his throbbing head drop into his hands. "How did she...?" But he could not finish his thought.

"She was going to give them Urobouros. She betrayed you." Excella put her hand on his shoulder. "My dear, dear friend. We've both lost so much." Her face was suddenly close to his. Wesker could feel her warm breath on his face. "I can't bear the thought of you spending another night alone in that empty apartment. I'm coming over tonight."

"No." Wesker snapped to attention and pulled away from her. "I want to be alone right now." He couldn't let anyone see that the apartment had only one bed. No one could see that Sherry's rainbow of clothes shared a closet with his black suits. He had to get rid of all of it. He had to... "I need more test subjects. Many, many more."

Excella rocked back and stood, barely concealing her disappointment. "All right, I'll contact my supplier and—"

Wesker waved his hand. "No more animals. That is not what Urobouros needs."

"And what do we do about your daughter?" There was apprehension in Excella's voice.

"She'll surface again." Wesker pulled his Blackberry out of his pants pocket and typed in the passcode. The image of Sherry standing on the hotel balcony in Florence sprang up. He quickly toggled to the phone's settings. _Are you sure you want to delete this picture?_ a warning screen asked.

"It can wait," he said without looking up from the phone. "These things can usually wait."

Wesker pressed a button and watched a crude animation of a wadded-up piece of paper falling into a trash can.

* * *

_September 13, 2006_

_Manhattan_

"Fernando, you are a miracle worker," Alex declared. Her eyes looked dull behind dark blue contact lenses and Sherry almost missed their soft glow.

The stylist smiled and ran his hands through Sherry's new pixie cut. "What do you think?" he asked.

"Hmmm..." Sherry considered her reflection in the salon's mirror. It still felt strange to have short hair, but at least Fernando had salvaged the mess she made. "I like it!"

"You look like Mia Farrow in _Rosemary's Baby,_ " Jessica said.

"That's a bad thing?" Sherry deadpanned, making everyone except Jessica laugh.

Fernando whipped off the cutting cape. "So you just moved here, right? I hope I'll get to see you again soon."

"Definitely," Sherry said as she walked up to the salon's counter. She'd already told Alex she would pay for the haircut herself. That first night in Alex's mansion, she'd decided to hide the stolen money from Wesker's wall safe for her eventual escape. But now...

After paying, Sherry grabbed her hoodie off the coatrack in the corner, pausing for a moment to look at the small bruise on the inside of her arm. Dr. Fisher had drawn a blood sample a few days ago. She was still waiting to hear the results.

The three of them walked out of the salon into the cloudy autumn day.

Alex paused to put on her sunglasses. "I'll see you at the apartment at 6." She took a credit card out of her purse and held it out to Sherry. "Get something cute for tonight. Not too fancy, though."

Sherry shook her head. "I told you, I have my own money."

"You earned this," Alex persisted. "You're keeping Midnight calm. Fisher's team can finally take his vitals and get tissue samples."

It was true. She'd spent the past five mornings in Midnight's makeshift stable, soothing the animal while Alex's researchers poked and prodded him.

Sherry took the credit card and stuffed it in her jeans pocket.

Alex grinned as she slung her huge purse over her shoulder. "Well ladies, I must be off. Don't have too much fun without me."

Sherry looked up the avenue and thought about medieval brick walls and winding cobblestone alleys and picturesque little canals. That world and life were lost to her now, replaced by steel canyons and the undulating hills around Alex's estate. Here, the buildings and cars were bigger, the people fatter and louder.

She saw American flags everywhere, a reminder of the just-past fifth anniversary of the monstrous thing people had named 9/11. In a few weeks, there would be another huge memorial service in Colorado. Sherry spied posters on lampposts and plywood construction barriers.

_Join the truth movement!_ one leaflet urged. Another poster posed a dark question: _9/11 and Raccoon City...What aren't they telling us?_

So this was America. This was home. She'd longed for it not so long ago, but the reality felt foreign and odd. Sherry was grateful for Jessica's presence, though she knew the other woman was there to guard her, not keep her company.

"Is there one of those Lemon stores around here?" she asked.

"You mean Lululemon? Sure, let's go to the one on Union Square."

As she and Jessica walked south on Madison Avenue, Sherry felt the persistent ache in her chest begin to ease. She was learning to tolerate it, just as she'd gotten used to waking up in her new bed every morning in a blind panic, her hands groping the empty space beside her until her mind caught up with her body and she remembered everything.

Revenge. It was all that mattered to her now. But first, she had to get something to wear besides her ratty old hoodie.

* * *

"So we wind up at this Middle Eastern restaurant in Park Slope and the waiter keeps hitting on me and Raymond doesn't bat a friggin' eyelash," Jessica vented as Sherry sifted through a rack of jogging jackets.

"Mmm-hmm," she replied without looking up. Did she sound this annoying when she talked about her own problems?

"I don't know what his issue is. It's not like I expect him to rent a ski lodge in Tahoe and bang me on a bear skin rug in front of the fireplace."

"Why not? That sounds pretty nice." Sherry picked out a black jacket with a pattern of large, dark red roses that looked a bit like a blown-up photograph. She pulled the jacket off the hanger and tried it on in front of a mirror, finally turning to Jessica. "Thumbs up or down?"

"Up." Jessica folded her arms and sighed at the ceiling. "I'm just sick of mixed messages, y'know?"

"So walk away."

She rolled her eyes at Sherry. "Yeah, 'cuz that obviously worked out so well for you. You're still wearing Mystery Man's ring."

Sherry looked down at her hand. She stretched her fingers and rocked her hand, making the little diamonds around the pearl sparkle. "Maybe it'll never stop hurting," she told Jessica. "But I think I'm done crying."

* * *

The sky was becoming threatening by the time they left the Banana Republic store in Rockefeller Center.

"Oh my God, I can't believe how much I walked today," Jessica moaned and she set down a pile of shopping bags on the sidewalk. "Let's get a taxi. No way I'm taking all this crap on the subway."

Sherry looked up at another building across the street. "I want to make one more stop."

"Come _on_!" Jessica's shoulders sagged. "What else do you need? You got the dress for tonight, tons of new clothes, tons of shoes..."

"It won't take long." Sherry gathered up her own bags and walked toward the intersection.

5th Avenue's din faded as soon as they stepped into the nave of St. Patrick's Cathedral. The air felt colder than outside, almost dank, and smelled lightly of incense. But there was no mistaking this space for one of Europe's ancient cathedrals. The lines were too clean, the stones too bright and new.

Jessica plopped down in the nearest pew. "Just do your thing and let's _go_ ," she groaned.

Sherry left her purchases next to the pew and walked deeper into the cathedral. After listening to Jessica's gripes all day, she needed a few quiet minutes before facing the evening ahead. Tonight, she would meet the other leaders of the Organization.

She passed by photo-snapping tourists and people hunched over in silent prayer and stopped in front of an unusual altar. Unlike the pseudo-classical statues and paintings in the rest of the cathedral, the small copper statue before her wouldn't look out of place in a modern art museum. It depicted a woman in colonial-era dress, an open book in one hand and a child clinging to her skirts. Sherry saw a plaque on the wall. It read, "Mother Elizabeth Ann Seton, first American saint."

_Well, one saint is as good as another._ Sherry settled onto a kneeler in front of the altar and rested her forehead against her laced fingers. She did not pray. Instead, she thought.

If only Sherry could get back to him, then surely he'd understand she'd done it all for him—for both of them. She imagined stealing a cell phone, calling Wesker and whining like a homesick girl at her first sleepover party. _This sucks! Come pick me up!_

So why hadn't she knocked Jessica over at literally any point that day and disappeared into the crowd? Why did she buy all those clothes if she was just going to run away again?

_You realize you're probably dead to him, right?_

Sherry flexed her fingers and scowled at the memory. She did not want to trust Alex, but the older woman had promised her revenge. And she seemed to know the answers Wesker wasn't willing to share—or maybe never had in the first place. She wasn't running because...

_Because I have nowhere else to go._

"That's a lovely ring," a male voice said.

Sherry looked up to see an elderly priest standing next to her her.

"Oh, thank you. My...ex gave it to me," she said softly. "I can't bring myself to get rid of it."

"Ah, I see. I noticed you've been here for a while. Would you like some company?"

"Sure," Sherry said with a shrug. "I mean, I've been alone for a long time."

The priest smiled kindly. "We are all God's children, so you are never truly alone."

Sherry gaped at him, stunned. Someone else had said that to her long ago. But when, and who?

With some difficultly, he bent down on the kneeler next to hers. "Your ring reminds me of the parable of Pearl of Great Price," the priest said when their faces were level. "Have you heard of it?"

Sherry bit her lip. "I think I remember it...but not really."

"Well, a merchant found a pearl so perfect that he sold all his worldly possessions to buy it. Most people say the pearl is the Kingdom of Heaven, but other thinks it stands for our true selves. Sometimes, when we think we're lost, that's when we find the thing of real worth—the thing that's truly eternal."

She forced a smile. "That's so wise. I feel much better now."

The priest stood to leave and Sherry turned back to the altar. _I paid the price. Where's my piece of heaven?_

She looked down at her pearl ring and suddenly recalled something Alex had said on the plane.

_All part of the package when Excella sold you to me._

Then there was that long-ago morning in a bedroom with gray walls and carpet the same color as blood. _You would be a rallying point, a symbol._

_Men will follow a smile like that_ , Carlos once told her. _Maybe even die for it._

She heard Wesker's voice in her mind, enraged and fearful. _If anything had happened to you—anything at all..._

Sherry stared at the statue in front of her but did not see it. For a split-second, the tiny flames of the votive candles surrounding the altar seemed to flare up and the world around her turned red. The Pearl of Great Price was _her._

* * *

It was starting to rain when the taxi dropped them on Park Avenue and East 71st Street. As soon as they walked into the apartment, Jessica pulled out her cell phone and headed towards a curved staircase at the back of the foyer. This space felt more modern than Alex's upstate mansion. The walls were bright white and crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling.

"Just pick one of the bedrooms and get ready," Jessica said before she disappeared up the stairs.

Sherry hauled the shopping bags down a hall, found what looked to be a guest room and changed into a one-shoulder cocktail dress in saffron red. She put on new black tights and matching pumps that replaced the ones now lost forever under her old bed in London.

"Sherrele, are you back?" It was Alex, tacking the Yiddish diminutive "ele" onto her name. At least is sounded less condescending than "hon."

"Right here!" Sherry quickly checked her outfit in the vanity mirror and stepped into the hallway.

"Oh, look at you!" Alex gasped. "Let's have a drink before we head out."

Alex led her to a small library where a decanter of red wine and glasses waited on a side table beside two plush chairs.

"Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon." She handed a full glass to Sherry. "I've been saving it for a special occasion. Please, sit down." Sherry obeyed and Alex took the seat opposite. She noticed that Alex's ruffled amethyst wrap dress brought out the color of her eyes, which were no longer hidden.

"I got the test results from Fisher today," Alex said. "There's no easy way to say this, so I'll just say it: You are technically a bio-organic weapon."

Sherry clutched her wineglass a bit harder and slumped down in her chair. She looked over at the rain-spattered window.

"So I _am_ a monster," she said after a long minute.

Alex's eyes flared. "No, no! Not at all!" Her mouth twitched as she reconsidered. "Well, technically yes, but you're more like my brother and I than—"

"Than my dad?" Sherry cut in and she put her wineglass on the table. She got up and walked to the window, where the lights of the city shone through the rain and encroaching night. She pressed her palms against the windowsill, trying to stay calm, though she could feel her body starting to shake as the pieces fell into place in her mind. She didn't want it to make sense, but it did. It did.

"I know this must be hard for you to hear," Alex offered.

"But how did you...?" Sherry turned from the window. "He already tested my blood! I had every imaginable scan, every test..."

"My brother wasn't looking in the right place. Like I told you, I'm smarter than him." Alex held out her hand to Sherry's empty chair, bidding her to sit again. "Listen, you were infected with the G virus, correct? But you received the vaccine before the mutation could become evident."

"Evident?" Sherry raised her left hand, studying it for signs of corruption. But all she saw was an ordinary hand—the same one she'd always had.

"Your DNA. The virus had time to alter it but not override it. You didn't gain the strength or endurance that other BOWs have, but your body is infinitely more stable, and you got something else." Alex crossed her legs and rubbed her chin, suddenly lost in thought. "I still don't understand the exact mechanism, but all of Umbrella's viruses were derived from the same source. That must be the link," she muttered. "I remember an interesting theory about the Las Plagas parasites. Some researchers believed a master Plaga could control the others through high-frequency sounds. Or it could be scent-based..."

"What are you even talking about?" Sherry picked up her wineglass and took a long sip to steady her nerves.

Alex waited for her to finish before speaking again. "This is the true nature of the Red Princess," she told Sherry. "You're not a Guinea pig—you're the master control switch. And we've been waiting for you."

Sherry looked down at her free hand again, flexing her fingers and recalled all the times they'd been covered in blood. Her strange nightmares, the shadows that danced behind her eyelids, the mutant animals that by all rights she should've feared but did not. If it was true...

"I can control them," she breathed, finally letting it become real. Sherry curled her hand into a fist and looked up at Alex. "But if I'm so damn important, why did Excella set me up? Why'd she take the risk?"

Alex grinned. "If you're so damn important, why didn't my brother figure you out in the first place?"

"He tried." Sherry's gaze fell to the floor. "It tortured him. He made threats, he..." She shook her head and sighed. The pain beneath her sternum was flaring up again. "This isn't what he wanted for me," she said softly.

Alex cocked her head. "What?"

Sherry just stared at her over the rim of her glass. _She doesn't know about Al and I. She doesn't even suspect it..._

And Sherry wasn't about to tell her. She wanted to keep those moments to herself, those times so few and far between when they were the only people in the world.

"I wish you hadn't told me," Sherry said as she sank back into her chair. "I could've gone my whole life without know this."

"Sure, you could have. But then it would've always controlled you. Now you have a chance to control _it_." Alex crossed her legs and leaned forward. "How would you like to proceed?"

Sherry felt her jaw drop open in shock but quickly snapped it closed. In their eight years together, Wesker had ordered, dictated, argued and lectured. But he'd never, _ever_ once asked her what she wanted.

She put her hands on the chair's armrests and sat up. "I want Midnight fitted for a saddle—western style, none of that stuck-up English crap. And I want access to the dogs you've got kenneled behind the lab. Don't pretend like they're not there. I hear them barking at night. Find me a decent martial arts school that teaches Muay Thai kickboxing, and a shooting range." Sherry made sure Alex was looking straight at her before she went on. "And after I kill Excella—however long that takes—I want you to let me go."

"Go?" Alex balked. "My God, you're turning out to be quite the dubious investment."

"I'm a person, not an investment," Sherry retorted. "Do you want me to cooperate or not?"

"What I _want_ ," Alex began as she stood. "is for you to join us of your own free will." She started to walk toward the door. "It's getting late. We need to hit the road. Jessica!" Alex called down the hall.

Sherry got to her feet. "Where's my answer?"

"I'll give you everything else you requested," Alex said, turning from the doorway. "If you give me time."

Sherry sighed and rubbed her breastbone. It wasn't a promise, but at least it was progress.

"Oh, I hope you're getting along with Jessica," Alex added. "She'll be your protective detail whenever you're not on one of my properties."

"Is that really necessary?"

Alex clicked her tongue. "Now, now, Sherrele. We can't have a demigoddess running around unattended, can we?"

* * *

This apartment was even larger than Alex's, with walls paneled in dark mahogany. Sherry heard voices beyond a set of double doors. Alex was already inside was a cabal the likes of which would make any self-respecting conspiracy theorist run for their panic room. Politicians, business leaders, lobbyists, ex-CIA operatives and even a few well-known journalists and TV pundits—all members of the Organization.

Jessica stood beside her, looking as beautiful as ever. Fear twisted in Sherry's stomach. Surely they were expecting someone like Jessica and not a sad-eyed girl.

She heard Jessica sigh, and the bored, indignant sound made something flare within her. No, these strangers were her court. Jessica was not her jailer; she was her attendant.

She would play this new game.

"Here, hang it up." Sherry took off her long black coat and held it out to Jessica.

" _Excuse_ me?" Jessica gasped.

Sherry shot her a withering sidelong glance. With a scowl, Jessica grabbed the coat and folded it over her arm.

Sherry allowed herself one more flood of memories before she clamped off the veins that flowed into the aching cavity in her chest. His laugh, the way he always rolled up his sleeves, the way his hair looked when he got out of the shower in the morning...

She threw back her shoulders, lifted her chin and strode forward. But as she opened the door and met the curious faces before her, Sherry was careful not to smile. She'd decided Red Princess did not smile.


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

_You know how nights like this begin  
The kind of knot your heart gets in  
Any way you turn is going to hurt_

_There's perfume burning in the air_  
 _Bits of beauty everywhere_  
 _Shrapnel flying  
Soldier, hit the dirt_

_-"Blue Alert," Madeleine Peyroux_

* * *

_October 13, 2006_

_Washington, D.C._

Tourists preferred Washington D.C. in the springtime when the cherry blossoms were out, but Leon found he liked autumn the best. The swampy heat was gone and the city was charged with a renewed energy as Congress came back from summer recess and students returned to the area colleges. Dry leaves swirled at the bases of monuments, and for a few weeks, Leon could almost feel hopeful.

"I'm impressed with your buddy Benford," Claire said as they walked beside the Reflecting Pool. The Lincoln Memorial lay ahead of them, gray stone against a grayer autumn sky.

" _Senator_ Benford," Leon corrected her, allowing himself a lopsided grin.

"Ooh, sorry! I forgot how serious everyone is around here." Claire's waved her hands in front of her face in fake contrition. "But really, the fact that he even met with somebody like me is a big deal. Most politicians put TerraSave on the same level as friggin' fringe groups." She said the word _politician_ like it was a curse. "The biopharma lobbyists always get to them first," Claire sighed.

"Adam's different," he said. "He gives everyone a fair shake."

"Ahem, don't you mean _Senator_ Benford from the great state of Illinois? And maybe a presidential candidate in a few years?" Claire batted her big slate-colored eyes. "C'mon Agent Kennedy, what's the scoop?

"No comment."

"You're so protective of him! What, did he promise you a big-time job if he gets elected?" She laced her arm through his, pressing against his body as they walked. But there was nothing sensual in Claire's movements. Leon knew he was just another big brother to her. "I can see it now: my old buddy Leon, head of the U.S. Secret Service. And I'll say _I_ knew him back in the day."

Leon was eager to change the subject. The only thing he hated more than gossiping about the man he owed his career to was talking about himself. "So how about you? Still loving life in San Fran?"

Claire let go of his arm. "Woah, do _not_ call it that. And don't even think about calling it 'Frisco." But then smiled at him, her perpetual auburn ponytail bouncing a bit as she walked. "Yeah, I finally found a sane roommate and TerraSave's new HQ down on the piers is almost done. It's going to be beautiful. We've got this amazing view of the Bay Bridge, and..."

"It's good to see you smile again," he said without thinking.

Claire's face fell and she stopped in her tracks. "I...thanks." She crossed her arms and looked down at the flagstones. "It's stupid. I catch myself when I feel too happy because Chris isstill such a mess."

Leon worried she was about to cry again. He'd seen enough of that last night when she had too much to drink and dinner and ended up weeping in his arms when they got back to her hotel room.

_It's so hard to be strong for him_ , she'd confessed. _He forgets that Jill was my friend, too._

"But you know what pisses me off the most?" Claire asked, her voice suddenly angry. "I'll never get a chance to personally strangle you-know-who. You remember what he did to me, right? How he fucking roundhouse kicked me in the face and walked away acting all 'sucks to be you'?"

Leon searched the charming heart-shaped face he'd first seen on the worst night of both their lives. She'd always be 19 in his eyes.

"Claire..."

"I'm fine, I'm fine." She shook her head and looked back toward the Lincoln Memorial. "I'm already pissed about cutting this trip short. I am _not_ leaving on a sour note."

That reminded him: Claire needed to leave for Dulles soon. Then Leon had to figure out what to do about Senator Benford's fundraiser that night.

Leon hated the relentless churn of D.C.'s social life, even when it involved someone as admirable as Benford, but he'd RSVP'd because Claire wanted the chance to network. And now she was leaving a day early, called back to San Francisco on official business.

Claire must've been thinking about the same thing. "Oh, I know! Why don't you ask that Ingrid gal to go in my place?" she suggested. "She seemed nice. And she's got that sexy librarian thing going on."

Leon suppressed a grimace. Lord knew he'd tried to go down _that_ path before.

"That's a good idea," he told Claire so wouldn't worry about him.

* * *

It was a short walk back to Claire's hotel near George Washington University. The concierge called a taxi and they lingered on the curb for a few minutes.

"I'm really glad we did this," Claire said as she hugged him goodbye. "Only took a year, right?"

A year since Harvardville already? Where did the time go?

Leon watched the taxi drive off and wondered what do next. He'd taken the day off to be with Claire.

_Gosh, maybe I should spend some time in this city I supposedly live in?_

D.C.'s Foggy Bottom neighborhood was hardly the worst place to linger on a Friday afternoon, but Leon barely saw the row houses and pin-neat boutiques. All he could think about was work. Where were the newest hotspots? What disturbing intel would Hunnigan drop on his desk come Monday morning?

Ever since becoming a federal agent, he'd had a front-row seat on a world more divided and radicalized than it had been in decades. The War on Terror was just one part of the mess. Regional conflicts in second- and third-world countries regularly spilled over borders, enabled by pathogens that changed and adapted as quickly as the malcontents who wielded them. Worse still, governments couldn't agree on international regulations for bioweapon technology because many wanted the power for themselves. Leon knew where it had all started. But where would it end?

Maybe Claire made the better choice. Her bosses weren't bound by bureaucratic red tape. TerraSave constantly needled the U.S. Government for the truth about bioterrorism threats. They investigated pharmaceutical companies more throughly than the federal agencies tasked with regulating them—or so TerraSave liked to say.

But on his end, all Leon could do was watch and wait for the next disaster to strike. He nodded over memos and waited for documents to be signed and budgets to be approved. He watched children's faces light up when they saw the massive missiles inside the National Air and Space Museum, knowing he would probably never hold a child of his own. He was getting weary of it all.

Leon pulled back his jacket's sleeve and checked his watch. He had time to linger a while longer, but the afternoon was growing colder and his apartment in the West End had a pile of unwatched Netflix DVDs on the coffee table. Maybe he'd do that tonight instead of putting on one of his rarely-worn suits and braving several hours of awkward small-talk. Benford would probably understand.

That was when he saw her standing in front of a store window not 20 feet away. Her black hair had grown longer since their last meeting as was styled into a rather severe inverted bob. She had a piece of rolling luggage by her side and wore a red leather coat over a pair of jeans. Leon started to walk over as soon as he was sure it was her.

Of course she would show up on Friday the 13th. That was just her style.

"Hi, Ada."

She jerked around and for once could not hide her surprise. "Why, hello there!" Ada said with a little gasp.

Leon stared at her for a second before diving in. "So let me guess: You've been trailing me all day and now you're 'allowing' me to see you." She raised a hand in protest but he didn't let her interrupt. "You've got some nerve coming on my turf. What do you want?"

"Want? I just got here! I was about to..." Ada's dark eyes went wide. " _You_ found _me_!"

Was she lying or telling the truth? Was it even worth his time?

"You know what, I don't even want to know." Leon started to walk away. "Nice seeing you, I guess."

"Leon, wait!"

He caught himself mid-stride. Now _there_ was something he never thought he'd hear. He turned around.

"Can we go somewhere and talk?" Ada asked. "Just for a few minutes?" She did look exhausted. She did look like she had no idea what he was talking about.

And there was no denying he'd been waiting years for her to say that.

"Do _not_ make me regret this, Ada."

* * *

"You have a Microplane! Perfect!" Ada brandished the kitchen tool with satisfaction.

"A what?" Leon glanced over from his spot on the couch. "Oh, that. Yeah, somebody left it here when they moved out...in a hurry."

His apartment's living room extended back to an open kitchen and he could see Ada had already made herself at home, pulling out pots and strange gadgets he'd forgotten he even owned.

Ada grinned and went back to cutting up the rotisserie chicken they'd picked up on the way over. "What was her name?" she asked playfully as she dropped the pieces into a waiting pot of roiling broth.

"It doesn't matter." Leon looked up at a print of a vintage French advertisement hanging on the wall—another abandoned item. "Angela," he said after a moment.

"Ah," Ada murmured, as if he'd just told her the weather forecast.

He stood up and walked over to the counter that divided the kitchen from the rest of the room.

"Wow, you sure are showing that lemon who's boss."

Ada was concentrating on relieving a lemon of its peel, one vigorous scrape against the Microplane at a time. "Stop staring at my chest," she said.

"Just zesting the hell out of it."

Ada tossed the lemon on the counter and glared at him. "I'm sorry, can I help you with something?"

Leon folded his arms and slouched against the counter. "You said we were going to talk. I didn't ask you to make me dinner."

"Well maybe _I'm_ hungry!" Ada snapped, planting her own hands on the countertop. "Maybe I had to hop on a transatlantic flight last night and today was supposed to be my shake-off-the-jet-lag day and instead of being happy to run into me, you accuse me of..." She leaned forward, close enough for Leon to catch the scent of lilacs on her skin. "What exactly, Leon?" she said, clearly irritated. "Being a spy? Being an enemy combatant? All I wanted was a chance to explain a few things."

Leon had imagined this moment for years—all the things he'd ask if he finally had her cornered, all the things he'd say. But bringing her back to his apartment wasn't part of the script. In his mind, this meeting always happened in the roil of chaos, or in a interrogation room surrounded by colleagues who would make sure things didn't get out of hand.

Running into her on the street like an old friend was too disarming, too damn ordinary. And now Ada was cooking them dinner. No, not part of the script at all.

Leon rapped the counter with his knuckles. "Fine, explain away."

Ada pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and went back to tending the soup. "There's something big coming, bigger than anything we've seen before." She didn't wait for him to ask what it was. "War," Ada intoned in her deep, aloof voice. "Total war using all those little monsters and viruses you and I know far too much about. But who wants it, I'm not sure. That's what I'm trying to find out."

Leon felt a chill run up his spine as his mind turned back to Claire's crying jag and the BSAA's botched mission in August.

"I'm sure you have some leads," he said calmly. "You worked for him, after all." He didn't have to say Wesker's name.

Ada smirked. "I worked _with_ him _allegedly_ , thank you very much. But now Wesker's dead—demise number two, if you're keeping track—and this is the first time you're hearing about this war business, isn't it?"

It was, but she didn't need to know that. It sounded crazy. It sounded like a ploy. It it sounded like the very thing he'd secretly dreaded for years.

"Come work for us," Leon told her. "I can get you immunity."

"Work _under_ you, you mean?" Ada enjoyed saying the word 'under' a bit too much. "That's not my style. And immunity from what? We both know you and your lovely friends have nothing solid on me." She looked into the steaming pot on the stove. "Anyway, dinner's ready."

* * *

Ada stretched her arms and sank back into the couch cushions. "After all this time, you still think we're on different sides. No, it's worse than that. You think there are 'sides' in the first place."

_How dare you sit there acting so normal,_ Leon wanted to say. _How dare you treat national security threats like pillow talk._

"Thanks for cooking," he told her instead.

Ada laced her fingers behind her head and sighed happily. "I think it turned out pretty well. I know someone who's even better in the kitchen. She taught me a trick or two. Wait, what are you doing?"

Leon stood and headed down the hall towards his bedroom. "I have get changed for a thing tonight. Feel free to let yourself out."

The fundraiser was his best way out of this farce. He couldn't stand any more of her baiting, her self-satisfied preening, the way her soft smile promised him everything and her eyes winked it all away.

At least it felt good to be the one walking away for a change.

"We're not done here," she called after him.

"Yes we are."

And he meant it, but wasn't surprised when Ada was still on the couch when he came back out. She smiled and got up when she saw him.

"I wanted to tell you, I like your hair this length. It suits you." She reached out to touch his face but Leon jerked his head to one side. Ada seemed unfazed. "And speaking of _suits_! Goodness, you clean up nicely. But that tie doesn't quite work. You have others, right? Let me pick one out."

"Ada, this is becoming ridiculous," he said sternly. "I need to leave."

"This is where you're going, right?" Ada held up the fundraiser invitation. Leon wanted to kick himself or, better yet, jump out the window. He'd left it sitting on the coffee table. "It should be fine," Ada said as she unzipped her rolling suitcase and pulled out a mint green qipao dress. "I don't think I'll know anyone there."

"And I'll know all of them," Leon grumbled. "Do you honestly think I'm going to jeopardize my career just so you can get off on leading me around by the nose?"

"Who's leading whom here?" Ada tossed the dress over her arm and fished out a pair of high heels. "And do _you_ honestly think your bosses work for different people than I do?"

* * *

_Who are you?_

Such a simple question.

_Ada. Ada Wong._

He'd had no reason to doubt her. On that awful night, she was just another lost soul, just another person he was supposed to protect. At first, anyway.

"Adam, I'd like you to meet..."

She sidestepped Leon and extended her hand. "Hi, I'm Ada," she told Adam Benford. "I'm an old friend of Leon's sister."

The senator offered his usual pleasant smile and leaned in as he shook Ada's hand. "Oh, how nice. Here visiting?"

"Yes. I work in PR up in New York. I'm just swinging through on business."

"PR? In what area?" he asked.

"Crisis management," Ada said without batting an eyelash. Leon looked at her calm face and felt the knot in his stomach tighten. But there was no flash of recognition in Benford's eyes, no hint of suspicion on his long, professorial face.

"Ah, very interesting." Benford clapped his hand on Leon's left shoulder—his bad shoulder—before an aide sidled up to call him away. Leon did his best not to wince. "You two enjoy yourselves," Benford said as he walked toward another group of people.

Ada's pink shawl slipped down her arm as she led Leon to the side of the room. "You okay?"

"Yeah. He knows about my...I mean..." Leon reached for the spot on his upper chest where a madwoman's bullet had torn through tendon and muscle, barely sparing his full range of motion—and his life. "But he's a busy man. It probably just slipped his mind."

"Well, _I've_ never forgotten," Ada said softly.

The chattering people around them receded as Leon felt the tendrils of memory slither into the room. He'd taken that bullet for her eight years ago. Now she was here in front of him, smelling like springtime and wearing a green dress that clung in all the right places. And here _he_ was, bending to her every whim, forgetting himself in front of people who could ruin him, yet unable to push her away.

"I'd do it again in a heartbeat," he confessed.

Her expression softened and Leon thought he saw tears pooling in her eyes. Or maybe it was just the room's low light.

"Excuse me, you're Leon Kennedy, right?" Leon turned to see a middle-aged African American man standing behind him. "Victor Armand," the man said. "Nice to met you."

"Oh hi, I..." Leon squared his shoulders and shook Victor's hand. "Sorry, I'm always a bit thrown when my reputation proceeds me."

Victor smiled and wagged a finger in mock reproach. "Ah, one of the humble ones. We'll see how long you keep _that_ up."

Leon noticed Ada was hanging back and went into deflection mode. "So what brings you here tonight?"

"Supporting that fantastic man over there, of course." He nodded towards Benford, who was on the far side of the room. "I represent the Global Biopharmaceutical Consortium here in D.C." Victor motioned to a group of people nearby. "We've got a little contingent. Care to join us? There's lots of interesting things going on these days, don't you think? I'm happy the Senator is open to hearing our concerns."

Leon followed him reluctantly. Maybe Benford wasn't immune to special interests after all. He knew he had no right to be disappointed; lobbyists were omnipresent in Washington. There was only so much one person could do to fight the system. At least the Consortium were the good guys.

_Aren't they?_

Ada fell in by his side, tossing Leon an amused glance that let him know she was back to her usual self. Soon, she was trading friendly jabs with Victor. The conversation turned trivial, but Leon noticed Ada was slowly drawing bits of information from their companions: where they were from, what they did for the Consortium, how many children they had, even their personal political leanings.

Leon was content to stay silent and marvel at her. She wasn't putting on a show for him, either. Ada seemed to be genuinely enjoying herself. Someone cracked a bawdy joke and Leon was startled when he saw Ada double over, practically convulsing with laugher. He realized he'd never actually heard her laugh before. Then someone mentioned the European drug giant Tricell and Victor steered them all back to terra firma.

"Apparently it's been business as usual since Gionne died," Victor said. "His daughter technically took over, but she's caught up in some pet project. She lets the VPs run the day-to-day. At least that's what my son says."

"Oh, that reminds me, how is Sean doing?" one of Victor's colleagues asked. "Is he still in London?"

"Yeah, he's good," Victor said cautiously. "Well...he got mugged last month. Got a little roughed up, too."

The group sent up a chorus of gasps and oh-noes.

"They didn't catch the guys yet, but he'd okay. Otherwise, he had a great time. And we just found out he's transferring to Tricell's Boston office in January."

"Your wife must be thrilled," someone else said cheerfully.

Victor's face brightened. "Oh yes, Wendy's getting her baby boy back. But it was good for him to get out of the nest for a while."

"What's that you said about Tricell?" Ada asked. "Who's really running the show over there?"

"Miss, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to insinuate something," Victor drawled.

"I find it's best to assume companies like that are up to no good," Leon said, immediately turning heads. "Saves a lot of time."

Victor rubbed his chin and chuckled, but Leon thought he saw annoyance bubbling behind the older man's perfectly-practiced grin. "Now that is _exactly_ the kind of anti-business attitude we're seeing too much of in Washington these days."

"No one's debating Tricell's right to exist," Ada chimed in as she put her hand on Leon's back. "But let's not pretend money alone is going save us."

Victor blinked. "Save us from what?"

* * *

Ada was still wearing her Mona Lisa smirk when they got back to his apartment.

"I have an early flight," she said. "No point in getting a hotel at this hour. So if it's all the same to you, I'll just crash on the couch."

Leon switched on a lamp and watched her bend down to take off her shoes. There was a strange intimacy in this moment, as if they were just a normal couple returning home after an evening out. But Leon knew it wasn't true, and he felt old anger flare up inside him.

"What was that all about?" he demanded.

"Hmm?" Ada turned to face him, all innocence.

"Tonight. You messing with those lobbyists."

She crossed her arms and the smile faded. "It's called intelligence gathering. Surely you've heard of it."

"So that's why you're here after all." And she'd used him. As usual.

"No, Leon," Ada said with an exasperated sigh. "I _am_ on assignment. I wouldn't lie to you about that. But tonight was a coincidence—a useful one, though. I've heard of Mr. Armand. He protects the Consortium's interests in the U.S. and he obviously knows more than he's letting on."

"This isn't about him!" Leon shouted. The stoic façade he'd held up all evening was crumbling fast. It was the same dilemma as always. Trust her or don't trust her? Take her in for questioning or shove her onto the nearest horizontal surface and just take her already? And if she left now, would he ever see her again?

_There's something big coming..._

After an agonizing moment of silence, Ada suddenly closed the space between them, laid her hands against his chest and leaned in to kiss him.

_War._

Before her lips could reach his, Leon grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back. "Another useful coincidence?" he asked.

"For God's sake!" Ada spun away and pressed her palms to her forehead. "You're here, I'm here, and we can actually talk for a change!" Leon heard the anger in her voice, saw it rising in the pink flush of her cheeks. "That's the first thing I thought when I saw you earlier," Ada said as she dropped her hands and walked toward him again. "Why not today? Why not now?"

"Because it's all just a game to you!" he spat, moving to put the couch between them. "You show up, light a fire under me and leave. That's all you've ever done."

Ada glared back at him. When she spoke, her voice was low but strong. "It takes two, Leon. You're just as much a part of this as I am," she said. "Why can't you accept that today was serendipity? We could finally have some fun with nothing standing in our way. But just look at you." Ada let out a short chuckle and put her hands on her hips. "You're bound and determined to be miserable."

"I'm miserable _because of you_!" Leon yelled at her, making her jump a little. "You're in here, right here, and there's no taking you out!" He thumped his hand against the place where the bullet struck his body. "I've tried to move on, Ada. I don't even want to _think_ about how many times I've tried. But there always comes a point when I look at a woman I'm supposed to be with, a woman I'm supposed to love and..." The rage drained out of him when he registered the pain on Ada's face, but he need to finish. "And all I can see you."

"Wow," was all she said. Ada crossed her arms again and turned away from him, sucking in a long breath as she walked to her suitcase. "I...I'll leave."

"Ada..."

"No, I get it. I've ruined your life." Ada was moving quickly now, wrapping her pink shawl around her neck like a scarf and grabbing a pair of flats from her suitcase. "I just thought that...today..." She caught herself and shook her head. "It doesn't matter what I thought."

He tried to will himself to say something, though Leon knew letting her go was the only way to salvage the mess. He'd put this strange episode in the box with all his other memories of her and close it, maybe for the last time. But...

_Why not today?_

Then Leon knew. It had to be today, because tomorrow wasn't coming.

He couldn't get across the room fast enough. Ada threw her arms around his shoulders and he did not resist her kiss this time. But there was no tenderness in her lips; only hunger. He felt Ada's hands clench the fabric of his shirt and Leon could not push back the memory of the last time he'd held her—the moment when her breathing stopped and she went limp in his arms.

_War._

No, not tonight. The body pressed against his was warm and alive and ready. Leon pulled away from her and lapsed into autopilot, making sure the front door was locked, then bursting into the bathroom to find a box of condoms he knew was in a drawer.

Ada was waiting for him in the bedroom. He paused for a moment to look at her body silhouetted against the dull light that shone between the Venetian blinds. How many times had he imagined this moment? How many times had he plotted it out like a movie, the things he'd say, the parts of her body he'd touch first?

He pushed her back onto the mattress and reached up her dress to pull off her thong. Ada moaned and his fingers lingered and explored, then he found the zipper on the side of her dress and helped her wriggling out of it. She lay back on the bed Angela had chosen for their future—a future he'd destroyed by murmuring Ada's name in his sleep—and held out her hand.

The room was dark, but they found what they needed.

* * *

Ada looked at her cell phone. "My flight leaves at 6:40. I may as well head out."

She felt Leon's eyes on her as she stood and gathered her clothes from the floor.

"I'll try to pass on any useful intel," she said. "but promise me you'll keep an eye on the Consortium and Tricell."

Leon was silent. He hadn't spoken since his whisper of "I love you" moments before they'd plunged into each other. And between sobs, she'd said it back to him. She'd said it back and meant it. Not that it could make a difference now.

"What do you think would happen if I don't go?" Ada asked, though she already had some possibilities in mind. She'd use her connections to get a job in D.C., maybe as an analyst or a consultant. She'd move in with him. Then she'd say they didn't have enough furniture so they'd buy more. They'd put in an offer on a house. They'd go to City Hall some Friday afternoon and get married. Then her parents would move closer to help with the baby and...

"We'd live," Leon said softly.

She sighed and looked at the crumpled dress in her hands. "Will you wait for me?"

"I can try," he said. "But I don't know."

Ada nodded and felt a rueful smile tug at her lips. It wasn't the answer she wanted, but it was certainly the one she deserved. She was a fool if she thought she could miss that plane. After all, Alex Wesker hated it when her employees weren't on time.


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

_I'm wondering..._

_Were you giants or friends?  
Even the __Morrígan_ _?_ _  
Lovers or enemies?  
One or all of these? _

_-"SnowBlind," Tori Amos_

* * *

_October 14, 2006_

Scottish deerhounds were not sleek and charming like other breeds of hunting dogs. They were huge, gangly creatures with tangled gray-black fur that made them look more like the Hound of the Baskervilles than household pets. But the three deerhounds that lived in the prison-like kennel behind the old carriage house always perked up when they saw Sherry.

The first time she suggested taking them for a walk around the grounds, Dr. Fisher's eyes nearly popped out of his head. But Alex had stood by calmly while Sherry soothed and stroked each hound while nervous scientists fitted them with tracking collars and muzzles.

Alex believed in her. She said so constantly, and reminded Dr. Fisher and his staff that Sherry was "the one they'd been waiting for." Sherry tried not to let the praise go to her head. She'd heard it all before. The Wesker siblings seemed to have a genetic propensity for dramatics.

But there was no denying the thrill Sherry felt the first time she ran across the estate's broad lawn with the dogs bounding beside her. The guards watched anxiously from their posts, weapons at the ready, but they did not need them.

And this morning, the hounds did not need their muzzles. From Midnight's back, Sherry surveyed the frost-covered meadow that sloped down to the river. Near the treeline, a small herd of white-tailed deer nibbled holes through the thin crust of ice to get at the grass beneath. Midnight whinnied with excitement and one of the deer raised its head. Sherry hushed the horse and squinted into the distance. The deer was a big buck with a six-point antler rack. She gave Midnight a little squeeze with her knees to get him moving. The three deerhounds followed, obediently keeping pace with Midnight.

The deer hadn't caught their scent yet, but would soon. Sherry could hear the dogs' excited panting and looked down at them to whisper a gentle warning.

"Not yet, girls. Not yet."

The dogs were all female, so Sherry had the bright idea to name them after the Furies of Greek mythology. Nyx was the darkest of the three hounds, Alecto had a tuft of white fur on her chest, and Megaera was bigger than her sisters, with huge jaws that never seemed to stop slavering.

As their name implied, deerhounds were bred to chase deer, to run them down and wear them out so their masters could easily claim their quarry. But these dogs were so much more than that. And they were hungry.

Sherry reigned in Midnight and saw the hounds' ears perk up in anticipation. Their jowls stretched into parodies of smiles that looked all the more disturbing because of their glowing crimson eyes. She raised her right arm and pointed three fingers towards the buck at the end of the meadow.

"Go," Sherry said.

The three Furies were off in flash, coursing faster than any other hound of their already-speedy breed could possibly run. Megaera leapt on the buck while the rest of the herd scattered, but the deer kicked her and bounded away, its rump in tatters.

Sherry cursed under her breath as the hounds followed the deer into the woods. The buck would not get far with those wounds, and the dogs' bloodlust was already up. She did not want them to kill their prey before she gave the order. Arguably, it was the most important part of the hounds' training. It was one thing to keep the Furies calm and teach them to act like normal dogs, but if she could not make them obey her in this penultimate moment, she could never truly claim mastery over them.

Sherry clicked her tongue and urged Midnight into a canter. She could hear the dogs barking over the rush of wind in her ears. Between a bright trail of blood and the huge paw prints on the frosty ground, tracking them through the woods was a simple matter. She dismounted when she saw the Furies had cornered the deer against a rocky outcropping. Their barks sounded more like shouts to her now, but they did not pounce on the cowering buck. They were waiting for her.

Midnight tossed his head and refused to get closer, but Sherry grasped his reigns and gave a firm tug as she walked forward. He had to learn his place, too.

She watched the bleeding buck for a moment. It had collapsed on the leaf-covered ground and was shaking from fear and pain.

_Mercy_ , the deer's huge black eyes seemed to plead.

"Sorry, not today," Sherry told the buck. "Now," she told the dogs with a nod.

As the sounds of slaughter filled the cold morning air, Sherry took off her riding helmet and closed her eyes. Her time alone with the animals had become her daily dose of freedom. There was no Jessica hovering over her shoulder, no neurotic Dr. Fisher asking too many questions, no Alex trying to force baked goods and motherly advice on her. This morning, it was only her and her shadows.

She smiled as she imagined the bleating deer was actually Excella being torn limb from limb. The fantasy was almost as satisfying as the dreams that sometimes came to her of late—dreams where she clung to a familiar body and gave and received forgiveness.

In her dreams, she was whole.

* * *

Ada stepped into the mansion's entrance hall, taking note of a vase of artfully-arranged yellow chrysanthemums sitting on a table.

"How did recon go?" Alex asked as she took Ada's suitcase and put it next to the wall.

"Not bad. I tracked him down in Prague. My full report is here." Ada took a flash drive out of her purse and handed it to Alex. "I was only able to observe him from a distance, but he looked..."

The older woman cocked her head. "Looked like what?"

"Ordinary, I suppose."

Alex laughed. "There _are_ no ordinary people in my family. I'm sure this boychik is no exception—if he's the real thing, of course. Anyway, Sherry's been outside all morning but she'll be back soon."

"Did you tell her I was coming?"

"Did I, did I...?" Alex's violet eyes narrowed with thought. "Oh, dear."

"For God's sake, Alex!" Ada groaned. She hated Alex's airhead act. It made her seem so approachable. But Ada knew that underneath it lay cold, calculating intent.

"This could be very awkward," Ada said. "I haven't seen Sherry in two years. She's going to have a lot of questions. And _I_ have a lot of questions. You still haven't told me how you wrangled her away from Wesker. I can't believe he hasn't already shown up and—"

"Here she is now!" Alex cut in cheerfully.

Ada turned and saw a silhouette standing in the open door. She didn't recognize Sherry at first because her hair was chopped short. She wore a quilted blue riding coat and had a helmet tucked under her arm. When she stepped into the hall, Ada saw Sherry's cheeks were bright red from the cold. Her mouth fell open when she saw Ada.

_Play it cool. It's only Sherry._

"Hi," Ada began.

Sherry dropped her riding helmet and rushed forward with a scream. She rammed into Ada, sending her tumbling backwards into the table. The vase of chrysanthemums crashed to the floor and the two women quickly followed. The back of Ada's head hit the parquet and the world flashed white.

"What?" she managed to gasp.

Then Sherry was on top of her, straddling her chest and digging her fingers into Ada's throat. She began to fight back, twisting her body to try to throw Sherry off and grabbing at her wrists, but Sherry's grip held fast and soon Ada couldn't draw in a breath. The goddesses painted on the hall's ceiling danced above her, blithe and oblivious.

Had Sherry always been this strong? Why was there so much hate in her eyes?

_And am I really going to die this way?_

There were other people in the room now. Ada heard alarmed voices. She realized Alex was hovering nearby, watching but doing nothing. Was she...enjoying this?

It didn't matter. As her consciousness began to slip away, all Ada could think of was how she would never see Leon again.

* * *

Forceful hands pulled Sherry off her prey and slammed her onto her back. She instantly tried to get up but then saw the man standing over her. It was Carlos.

The guards trained their guns on Sherry, but Carlos already had her in a bear hug to stop her from pouncing on Ada again.

"You killed him! You killed Jack!" Sherry cried. "I know you did it!"

Ada was kneeling on the floor, still rubbing her throat. Jessica helped Ada to her feet and watched Sherry's meltdown with her usual look of annoyance.

"What, you mean Krauser?" Ada rasped. "That was ages ago!" She turned to Alex and jabbed a finger toward her reddened throat where finger-length bruises were already budding. "Look at this! Look what she did to me!"

"What the fuck, Alex?" Sherry yelled, still struggling against Carlos' grasp.

"I have to agree with the little chica on this one," Carlos said with some effort. "I just got here. Cut a guy some slack!"

Alex clasped her hands in front of her and sighed. Chaos was one of her specialties. She found it was the best way to determine people's true motives. Then, when everyone was thoroughly turned inside-out, she could step in and play the hero, patron and mother confessor all in one. But this was starting to get out of control, even for her liking.

"Boys, stand down," she told the guards. "I can handle it from here."

Sherry wasn't finished. "You betrayed us!" she wailed at Ada.

"All of you, stop it!" Alex thundered, making everyone start and look at her. "Just look at yourselves!" She scolded them as if she hadn't engineered the whole confrontation. "Sherrele, calm down and stop trying to kill our guest."

"But she—"

"But _nothing_ ," Alex snapped. She was tiring of Sherry's unpredictable temper. The girl was more like the infected animals than she knew. At least Alex had confirmed her suspicion: if need be, she could pit Ada and Sherry against each other. But for now, she had to convince them to work together. She nodded to Carlos. "Mr. Oliveira, please let her go."

Carlos waited a beat and dropped his arms. Sherry jerked away from him with an angry huff but only glared in Ada's direction.

"This is bullshit," Sherry spat.

Ada mustered a chuckle as she massaged her neck. "You're telling me."

* * *

"I'm sure you're all wondering why I called you here today."

Jessica raised her hand. "The butler did it."

Alex grinned. "Not this time, I'm afraid."

She'd herded everyone into the kitchen's sitting area, but only Jessica was paying attention—barely. Ada paced by the French doors, a kitchen towel full of ice pressed to her bruises, and Sherry was busy interrogating Carlos.

"Why are you here? How did you get away?" Sherry implored him. "My friends—oh my God, Sean! Is Sean okay? You remember him, right? What about my dad? Does he know I'm here?"

Carlos looked down at her sadly. "It's not a good situation. Your papi doesn't leave the lab. Almost nobody sees him these days."

"Everyone sit down," Alex commanded.

"Uh-oh, it's the 'mom voice,'" Ada grumbled as she plunked down on the couch.

Alex waited until they were seated to start. "Let's begin from the beginning. The Organization has been concerned with Tricell's activities for some time. Last year, I sent Jessica to assist with a Tricell operation to infiltrate the BSAA. She discovered that Tricell is collecting viral samples and trying to replicate Umbrella's work."

"But why?" Ada interjected.

"That's the simple part, believe it or not," Alex said. "Someone at Tricell has delusions of grandeur—delusions planted in her pretty little head by none other than my brother. Though I'm afraid they've both gotten in over their heads...or so Mr. Oliveira tells me."

Sherry gasped. "You were working for Alex the _whole time_?"

"No, chica," Carlos said as he turned to Sherry. Alex noticed how gently he spoke to her. "I had a talk with your papi right before you went missing. He's gone too far. They're experimenting on people now. They even got their hands on someone I know..." His shoulders sagged with what Alex could only assume was regret. "But I couldn't help her, and Excella won't listen to me any more, so I quit."

"And thank goodness you did!" Alex walked over to Carlos and gave him a pat on the arm, then raised her head to address the group again. "It seems my brother is using Tricell's resources to develop a new virus. I'm afraid he's developed something of a god complex as well. Whatever this virus is, he's going to weaponize it and use it."

"Those rumors of B.O.W.-driven warfare," Ada said. "It was Wesker all along. I should've known."

Alex nodded at her. "Yes, and now that he's 'dead' again, who's going to suspect him?"

"No, he wouldn't!" Sherry shouted as she jumped to her feet. Ada cringed and shrank back in her chair. Even Jessica looked up from her cell phone. "I know him! He wants..." She trailed off when she realized everyone was staring at her. Sherry sat back down. "He just wouldn't do that," she mumbled to the floor.

Alex let her gaze linger on Sherry for a moment. _We'll shake those secrets out of you yet, princess._

"Anyhow," she went on cordially. "That brings me to other recent events. Sherry came into my custody about a month ago. I've been monitoring her progress for some time and an opportunity finally arose for us to meet."

Sherry folded her arms and snorted but said nothing.

"And Ada was on assignment in Europe before I called her in. Now we're all here," Alex said with a grin.

Ada waved her hand impatiently. "And?"

"The Organization wants its top talent working on this. That means you," Alex told Ada. "And Mr. Oliveira has agreed to join us as a field agent. I need both of you out there asking questions and looking for opportunities to get samples of this new virus. It's a long-term assignment; you could be in the field for months. But we need samples if we're even going to have a chance of synthesizing vaccines."

"What about me?" Sherry asked.

Alex knew what she was worried about. "Your plans will continue unchanged," she said.

Sherry gave her a brusque nod but looked relieved. Alex had never seen such hatred in someone so young, and she knew Excella disdained the girl too. At first, Alex hadn't been interested in the details of the rivalry. She finally had the Red Princess. What else mattered?

But when she saw raw emotion twist Sherry's face every time she spoke of her former guardian, Alex could not help but feel curious. Few people deceived Albert Wesker and lived to tell about it. Excella knew something, something that made her take an enormous risk...

"And what do we do after that?" Carlos said, pulling Alex away from her musings.

"The best case scenario is we wait for them to fail," Alex replied. "Worst case: We _make_ them fail."

* * *

"Your papi thought somebody took you, then Excella told him you switched sides." Carlos shook his head. "She had evidence."

"I did _not_ betray him," Sherry hissed. Ada thought she was working herself into another outburst. Instead, Sherry sucked in a long breath and zipped up her quilted jacket. "So what about this friend of yours who's in trouble?"

"Her name is Jill Valentine. I don't know how she got mixed up in this mess, but maybe I can still save her," Carlos said. "And get Excella to stop this craziness, too."

"Good luck with that. You'll need it." Sherry started to walk toward the entrance hall's oak doors but stopped when she reached the shattered vase on the floor. The yellow chrysanthemums were fanned out like a sunburst. No one had cleaned them up yet.

"By the way," Sherry said, looking back at Carlos. "As long as we're all suddenly telling the truth, my parents worked for Umbrella in Raccoon City. They died in the outbreak and I barely made it out alive. The man I call 'dad' is really my father's best friend."

Ada watched shock spread across Carlos' face.

"Wait, so you mean...?" he said with a gasp. Then Carlos' eyes narrowed. "Yeah, I guess that helps explain a few things."

Ada looked back at Sherry. _What things?_

Carlos was smirking now. "So we were all in that damn city, huh? And now we're together again. I guess there's no running from the past."

"More like there's no running from Alex," Ada said to him. "She found you, correct?"

"Yeah, right after I quit Tricell. It was like she was waiting for me." Carlos jerked his thumb toward the back of the hall. "Anyway, Alex wants to talk to me some more, but I can stick around if you want company."

Ada knew what he was thinking: The pretty blond girl standing next to them what not what she seemed.

_And she nearly killed me._

The adrenaline rush was long gone and Ada's throat now ached in earnest. She knew the bruises would look even worse in the morning.

_Sweet, quiet, sad little Sherry nearly killed me._

But there was only one way to find out the truth.

Ada turned on her best reassuring smile. "That's okay. We need to have a girl talk, anyway."

* * *

"Why did she do that?"

"Hmm?" Ada glanced at the black horse plodding along slowly next to her. Sherry looked at ease on the animal's back, reigns in one hand and the other resting on her thigh. The sun was just beginning to set over the Hudson River as they walked across the estate's lawn.

"Oh, you mean how Alex didn't tell you Carlos and I were coming?" Ada said. "She probably wanted to see how we'd all react. She's a scientist at heart, you know."

_A mad one._

Ada watched the three huge hounds that were trotting ahead of them. Sherry claimed she walked them like this every day, but Ada could tell these were no normal dogs. Still, they were more well-behaved than most of the B.O.W.s she'd encountered.

"You were working for her all along, weren't you?" Sherry asked next.

"Yes, Alex recruited me for the Organization years ago," Ada admitted without looking up. "And yes, I know she's Wesker's sister. She's pulled the wool over his eyes before. He actually worked for the Organization for a bit, right after Raccoon City. Did you know that? He never figured out who was in charge. And the whole time he thought I was working for him, I was reporting his plans back to Alex. But after the mission in Spain, I knew I'd lost his trust forever."

"Why?" Sherry's voice was flat, ominous. "Jack. Tell me why."

Ada sighed and saw her breath crystallize in the cold air. "He injected himself with a mutagenic virus. It wasn't pretty. It was either me or him." Ada stopped and put her hands in her coat pockets. Now she had some questions of her own. "Hold up a minute. What did Krauser mean to you, anyway? I had no idea you even knew him."

Sherry halted the horse with an almost imperceptible tug on his reigns. The dogs' heads swiveled around and they stood stock still in the meadow, waiting.

"He was my teacher," Sherry said. "He showed me how to survive."

"But why would you need to know...?" Ada's mind fell back to the autumn of 2004 and her visit to London. That damn portrait with the come-hither eyes. Sherry and Wesker bickering at dinner. She'd known something was wrong then. She'd _known_. "How did you end up here?" Ada demanded, urgency rising in her voice. "What's been going on since I last saw you?"

"I worked for Tricell for two years," Sherry said with a shrug. "It was...challenging."

"And where was Wesker for all of that?"

"We were together. Then he..." Sherry turned to face the river. Daylight was fading fast and the hills and wide ribbon of water below them were turning gray. "Things went bad. He lost control and I tired to bring him back. Carlos was telling the truth; their research went too far. I figured the best way to make it stop was to narc on Excella. She was bankrolling the whole thing, after all. But she found out about my plan. I still don't know how...I mean, I was so careful." Sherry lifted her free hand to stroke the horse's neck. "And now I'm here," she said.

"I've never met this Excella woman," Ada began cautiously. "She sounds pretty formidable."

Sherry's lips twisted into a snarl. "She ruined _everything_."

Ada stared up at Sherry as the full horror dawned on her.

_We were together_ , she'd said. _We were together._

Ada's hands flew to her mouth. "Oh my God, Sherry, I'm so sorry!" she cried. "I should've seen it! I should've stopped him from...from..."

"Interesting how you just made this all about you," Sherry sneered. In the darkening meadow, Ada thought heard the hounds stirring.

"No!" she pressed on. "Listen, whatever Wesker did to you, it wasn't your fault. Maybe it didn't feel like he was forcing you. Maybe you even thought you were in love with—"

"We never called it love!" Sherry shouted at her. "We never called it anything. It was just something that had to happen." She glared down scornfully from her mount. "I don't expect _you_ to understand."

Ada felt angry tears welling in her eyes. She thought of Leon, of the soft sound of his voice in her ear and the way his hand had felt against her skin. Wesker was not a man capable of such warmth or empathy—she was sure of it. He was not a man at all.

_And I left you alone with him._

One of the hounds let out a howl that chilled Ada to the bone.

"They're hungry again," Sherry said, calmer now. "So when do you leave?"

Ada collected herself. Emotion would do no more good here. "Soon," she said coolly. "Tomorrow, actually."

"Good." Sherry sat up straight in her saddle. Something in the distance caught her eye. "Go back to the house," she said. "Trust me, you don't want to see what happens next."

Sherry slapped the horse's reigns against its neck and showered Ada with kicked-up grass and dirt as she galloped away.


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

_And in the middle of the night, I may watch you go  
There'll be no value in the strength of walls that I have grown  
There'll be no comfort in the shade of the shadows thrown  
But I'll be yours if you'll be mine_

_-"Lover of the Light," Mumford & Sons_

* * *

_March 17, 2007_

_Manhattan_

"Back from yoga class?" an unfamiliar voice asked mockingly.

Sherry saw a shadow standing by the window in the apartment's living room. Then it turned and she realized it was just a young man, albeit one she did not recognize.

She dropped her gym bag on the floor. "Muay Thai kickboxing, actually," Sherry told him. "Who's this?" she asked Alex, who was sitting on the leather couch with her eyes glued to a laptop.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Alex's head shot up and Sherry noticed she was wearing her blue contact lenses. Whoever this guy was, he wasn't on Alex's clear list. "Jakob, this is my niece...Anne."

_Great, she wants me to do something for her. Lucky me._

"It's just Jake," he said. "Only my mom calls me Jakob."

Sherry waited for Alex to say something, but the older woman went back to typing on her computer. What was she supposed to do? Say hello? Shake Jake's hand? If so, neither of them was about to make the first move.

Alex frowned at the laptop's screen. "These aren't the prices your boss first sent me."

"You know how it is. Things can change overnight." He hardly sounded apologetic. Jake's eyes flicked up to meet Sherry's gaze, then quickly fell back to Alex, and she felt her heart flop over inside her chest.

Those eyes, long and narrow and a watery shade of blue. Sherry had seen them before...in Alex's high school graduation photo.

She walked over to the couch and stood silently behind Alex, feigning detached boredom—a trick she'd learned while working for Excella. Sometimes it was better to look like a servant, because servants heard and saw everything.

Up close, Jake was nothing remarkable. He was taller than Sherry, quite lean and wore a black peacoat, jeans and vaguely militaristic boots. Still, his eyes bothered her, and Sherry began to size him up out of habit.

Even with his buzz cut, she could tell Jake's hair was copper red. His skin was pale, making the scar that ran the length of his left cheek stand out even more, and his eyebrows were so thin and light, it almost looked like he had none at all.

Sherry blushed when his eyes shifted onto her again. She pretended to be very interested in the Persian rug under her feet.

"I must admit, this is a unique specialization, even for a PMC," Alex said.

Sherry blinked at the rug's interlocking red and blue swirls. _PMC? A private military company?_

Of course. The swagger, the arrogance. Sherry knew his type.

She chuckled under her breath. "Doesn't anyone say 'mercenary' any more?"

"Now, now, Anne." Alex's voice was like a warning shot.

"I don't care," Jake said. "I mean, she's not wrong."

This caught her off guard, and Sherry did not like it, did not like the way he just came out and admitted what he was.

Alex picked up her cell phone and sucked in a breath. "It's a message from Dr. Fisher," she said tersely. "Trouble at the lab."

"What? Is it Midnight? Did he—" Sherry stopped herself when she realized she hadn't heard the phone beep.

"I'm afraid this requires my immediate attention," Alex told Jake as she stood up. "We'll have to postpone our discussion until the morning, but feel free to stay here tonight."

"Whatever. I'm not on the clock." Jake was already eyeing a rack of DVDs by the television. "You guys got an Xbox?"

Alex beckoned as she walked toward the door. "Anne, if I could have a word?"

Sherry followed but cast a glance back at Jake before leaving the room. "Oh, and for the record," she called out to him. "Yoga is really friggin' hard."

* * *

"My plans for tonight involved watching _Boondock Saints_ and going to bed early," Sherry whispered once they were in the hallway. "And now you're leaving me alone with Douchebag Mc Boundary Issues?"

Alex grabbed Sherry's forearm and yanked her close. She gasped but knew better that to pull away. The older woman was stronger than she looked.

"Jakob works for a mercenary group that specializes in tracking and capturing B.O.W.s," Alex said in her ear. "I think you can agree that's no small feat."

"That's...fascinating, I guess. But why do you care about _him_?"

Alex let her arm go but kept her face close to Sherry's. "Some fresh intel on the biological warfare rumors Ada's been tracking in Europe," she said. "Jakob's name keeps coming up and I need to know why. I brought him here under the pretense of hiring his group. He'll be on our turf for 48 hour, tops." Alex stepped back and reached into her pants pocket. "Consider this a mission. Observe him. Find out what you can about him. Use your feminine wiles. I'll be back first thing in the morning."

Sherry crossed her arms. "Isn't slinging it around Jessica's job?" she asked acridly. Jessica had escorted Sherry back to the apartment building after kickboxing class then headed off on her own. For once, Sherry wished she'd stuck around.

"I gave her the night off." Alex held out a wad of folded $20 bills. "Ask questions and observe. Nothing more."

"Come on, Alex..."

" _You_ come on!" Alex hissed as an amethyst glow threatened to overwhelm the lie of her blue contact lenses. "It's Saturday night _and_ St. Patrick's Day. You have no excuse. And I have a green Marc Jacobs blouse you can borrow."

Sherry rolled her eyes and took the money. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

"Oh, and this is very important: Make sure he drinks something while he's here and don't wash the glass." Alex leaned in again, emphasizing each word with a wag of her black-tipped forefinger. "Got that? Don't. Wash. The glass."

"Yes, crazy Aunt Alex."

* * *

Jake tossed his coat on the kitchen island and pulled up a barstool. "Anyway, we bribe the driver to take us to Pripyat and he says you can't get radiation poisoning if you're drunk."

Sherry was poking around in the refrigerator for leftovers, half-listening to his story and doing her best not bend too much because her lower back was strangely sore.

_Must've pulled a muscle in class tonight..._

"So there's me, 10 in the morning and totally shit-faced. We come up to an old, I dunno, amusement park or something, and I see this rusty Ferris wheel. Looks like something out of a nightmare, right? And I think to myself: I'm gonna climb that fucker."

Sherry cast a quizzical glace back at Jake. _Good God, it's like Cobra Commander and Sniper_ _Wolf had a baby and threw it against the wall a few times._

She grabbed a half-empty bottle of Coke from the fridge and plopped it in front of him, pausing to adjust the sleeves of Alex's borrowed blouse. It was a bit too big on her, but it looked decent paired with black leggings and riding boots.

"Pics or it didn't happen," Sherry said as she pushed an empty glass across the countertop.

"What? It's not like I carry around..." Jake seemed stunned for a moment. "It happened, okay?" he grumbled, then poured a full glass of soda while Sherry went back to assessing the fridge's contents. "Ugh, this shit is flatter than your chest," he said after one sip.

Sherry whirled around and jabbed a finger at her breast. "I'll have you know these have a 100 percent user satisfaction rating!" she shot back.

"From who? A guy who's never seen tits before?"

For the first time in her life, Sherry understood why some medieval cultures believed redheads were demonic.

"Says the man wearing the _Thundercats_ shirt," she said.

Jake looked down at the stylized panther logo on his tee. "Hey! That show helped me learn English when I was a kid."

"What do you mean...?" Sherry stared at him, more befuddled than before. Jake sounded American to her. If anything, she would've guessed he was from New Jersey.

And it wasn't just Jake's eyes that bothered her. Something in the slope of his shoulders, the way he slouched forward and planted his elbows on the counter. It was familiar and yet...not. He reminded her of a puppy still growing into its paws. Maybe, if only he wasn't such an ass...

_Or maybe I haven't gotten laid in six months and any guy looks good right about now. Get a grip!_

Objective one was complete: she got him to drink something. Now Sherry had to keep the conversation going.

"So where are you from?" she asked casually while she took some Chinese takeout from the fridge.

"Edonia," Jake said. "It's one of those old Soviet Bloc countries nobody's ever heard of, stuck between Croatia and Hungary."

Sherry's breath caught in her throat as memories of her mission in Poland welled up. The snow, the somber churches, a dying man's pleading face...

_Not now. Power through it._

She dumped the leftover kung pao chicken and lo mein onto a plate, stuck it in the microwave and turned back to Jake.

"You grew up under Communism?"

"Yeah, you don't realize how bad it is when you're a kid. It's just the way life is." He gave a small shrug, then his face brightened with a sardonic grin. "But I _do_ remember the day there were tanks in the streets. My mom wouldn't let me go outside. Turned out there'd been a coup and the Communists weren't in charge any more. That was the summer of '89." The microwave beeped as Jake added, "Then the civil war started and things got _really_ crazy."

Sherry leaned against the counter and rested her chin in her palm. "Wow. What did you guys do?"

She wasn't just asking for Alex's sake. She actually wanted to know.

"We left. My mom had a cousin down in Newark. She helped us get over here." Jake craned his neck to look over her shoulder. "Is the food...?"

"Oh, sorry!" Sherry hurried back to the microwave, taking mental stock of their conversation.

_Born in a Communist hell hole, flees to Jersey of all places..._

She realized Jake had made no mention of a father.

"What do you do around here, anyway?" Jake asked as Sherry set his portion in front of him.

Sherry tapped her fork against her own plate, pondering the best way to describe the little space she'd carved out in Alex's world. If she wasn't training the animals, she was usually working out or practicing Mozart concertos on the piano. It was a lonely life, but the prospect of revenge kept her warm at night.

"I'm in an intensive leadership training program," Sherry told him.

Jake snorted. "Wow, that doesn't sound sketchy at _all_." His voice turned cautious. "So you know about the, uhh, things that go bump in the night?"

_I am one._

"In a word, yes. Not like I had much of a choice; you saw who my aunt is." Sherry looked at his watery blue eyes again and suddenly wished she could tell him more. She didn't know if she could trust Jake. She wasn't even sure she liked him. But she couldn't shake the notion that he'd at least understand. It didn't matter, though; tonight wasn't about her.

"Well, what's your excuse?" she asked him.

"Trouble follows me. I figured it was time to make it work for me, too." Jake waved his fork at the scar on his face. "See this? I got it last summer in Minsk. Some mobster wannabe didn't like the way I was looking at his girlfriend."

Sherry felt herself souring on him again.

_Are you trying to impress me? Can you even go five minutes without saying something repulsive?_

"Oh," she said instead.

They ate in silence until Jake pushed away his empty plate.

"So why are we still sober?"

Sherry stood up and grabbed her purse from the edge of the kitchen island. "That's easily remedied."

"Hey, you know what's weird?" Jake said and he put his coat back on. "My mom actually lived in the U.S. for a while before I was born. I still wonder why she went back to fuckin' Edonia in the first place."

"Oh, really?" Another interesting factoid to add to the list. "Where did she live?"

"Colorado, I think."

"No kidding, that's where I'm from." And she was finally starting to sound like it, too. The London brogue was leaking out of Sherry's voice at an alarming pace. It was a strange feeling, becoming American again.

* * *

They found a bar where a band was playing punky covers of Irish folk songs. Her forged passport and its equally fake birthdate helped acquire two Irish car bombs, which they knocked back while staring each other down over the rims of their glasses. Sherry's mood improved almost instantly. She ordered another round and held her Guinness close as the crowd carried them toward the tiny stage at the back of the bar. The band had just started a new song.

_Tell me ma when I go home, the boys won't leave the girls alone._

"Oh my God, I love this one!" she gasped, and the rest of the bar agreed with a chorus of cheers and whistles. It didn't get much more traditional than "I'll Tell Me Ma."

"What?" Jake shouted over the din.

"I said..." Sherry got up on her toes and pressed her thumb on his ear's tragus so he could hear her in the tumult—a helpful club trick she's learned years ago from Amelia. "I love this song!"

_She is handsome, she is pretty, she is the belle of Dublin city._

Sherry withdrew her hand and Jake stared down at her, an emotion she took for surprise written on his face.

_What, never been touched by a girl before?_ she wanted to rib him. But the bar was too loud, so Sherry just smiled and turned back to the stage.

_She is courtin' one, two, three. Please won't you tell me who is she?_

Yes, she'd get back to work as soon as this song was over. Maybe a few more drinks would loosen Jake up and get him to talk about...whatever the hell Alex was looking for.

His eyes. Maybe there was a connection with the Wesker Children project, the one that tore dozens of children from their families and turned them into unknowing guinea pigs. But Sherry didn't want to think about that right now.

_Albert Mooney says he loves her, all the boys are fightin' for her._

"Hey dude, what the fuck!" a voice behind her yelled, but Sherry was too busy singing along to care.

_She's as sweet as apple pie, she'll get her own lad by and by._

"This is great!" Sherry whooped as she swung around. But Jake was not there. He was next to the bar, slamming his fist into another man's nose.

* * *

Sherry set her ring on the kitchen counter before she rinsed her hands and face. The welt on her right cheek was turning purple and hurt when she touched it.

As soon as she'd tried to break up the bar fight, the man's enraged girlfriend came at her out of left field. The woman landed a drunken haymaker on Sherry's face, but she dodged the next punch, grabbed Jake's hand and bolted for the emergency exit before the shouting bouncer could wade through the crowd.

Then came a frantic stumble through an alley full of dumpsters and slushy snow. All she cared about was putting distance between them and the bar before the cops showed up. By the time they stopped to catch their breath, Sherry was thoroughly lost.

The rest of Alex's cash paid for a taxi and the driver stole glances at them in the rearview mirror as he ferried them back to the Upper East Side. The man in the bar had struck a few blows of his own, and Jake's lower lip was scraped and bloody.

_We look like a couple of criminals,_ Sherry thought during the awkward, silent cab ride. Or maybe they just looked like a couple. She wasn't sure which notion bothered her more.

Now, as she turned off the faucets and sighed into the sink's stainless steel basin, all she wanted was for Jake to leave. In the span of a few hours, he'd made her feel angry, beguiled and thoroughly twisted up inside.

But if there was one thing Alex was strict about, it was hospitality. Guests were to be accommodated and—as Sherry had found out the hard way—never, ever strangled. Plus, she still had an assignment.

Sherry looked down at the small duffle bag Jake had left on the kitchen floor earlier. She knew Alex would be expecting a full report, so she crouched down and quietly unzipped the bag. There was nothing interesting at first glance. Clothes, used airline boarding passes, some food wrappers. Then Sherry found two books: _Snow Crash_ and a collection of Kafka's short stories in the original German.

And just an hour ago, Sherry had seen him lay into a stranger like a common thug.

* * *

She thought Jake was asleep when she walked into the darkened living room. He was slouched on the couch, head tilted back against the cushions with his hands folded over his belt buckle.

Sherry turned on a lamp but he did not stir. She crossed to the desk where she'd left her new laptop and nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard Jake's voice.

"How can you stand this place?" he asked. "It's like living in a friggin' museum."

"It's easy. Just pretend you're one of the exhibits," Sherry quipped while she opened the laptop and plugged in a pair of desktop speakers.

He laughed at this, and then his water-blue gaze was on her.

There was more than a little truth in her joke. Sherry was used to being on display for leering men and meddling women and scientists who treated her like a jigsaw puzzle. But this felt different, and she turned back the laptop so Jake wouldn't see her blush. She tapped on the computer's trackpad and called up the indie rock station on Pandora.

"What's this hipster crap?" Jake cringed as a mellow song played.

"Sorry, I couldn't listen to any more Dropkick Murphys."

He chuckled again then said, "You're a fast runner, by the way," with a hint of admiration in his voice.

Sherry turned to face him and put a hand on her hip. She was in no mood for compliments.

"Would you care to explain why you rage-quit St. Patrick's Day after two drinks?" she asked icily. "Dammit, I'm not even buzzed." Sherry felt her agitation mounting and she began to pace the Persian carpet.

Jake stretched his arms along the couch's back. "Look, I'm sorry some New York jerkoff got in my face and needed to be regulated. It was still a good night."

This made Sherry stop and stare at him, dumbfounded. She wanted to yell, but a new song had started, eerie and beautiful, and some of her pique drained away. Suddenly Sherry was just tired and she sat down next to Jake.

"Oh yes, _my_ face definitely agrees," Sherry grumbled at her lap. "I'd hate to see your idea of a bad night."

"Let me see that." Jake reached over and hooked his fingers under her chin.

"No, you don't have to..." she started to protest.

But he'd already swiveled her head to face him. Sherry thought she saw concern in his eyes. Her lower back started to throb dully, almost in time with the music.

"Damn, that bitch got you good." Jake's index finger grazed the edge of her bruise, but she did not flinch. Sherry couldn't even sense the welt anymore. It was because of the way his hand felt under her jaw, and the way he looked at her with that crooked smirk and those damnable _eyes_.

He was close enough for Sherry to smell the sweat on his skin. There was a faint, dusty scent, too. It was a primeval essence, one that could not be found in this concrete city or even the mossy ground she trod with Midnight and her Furies.

_Peel the scars from off my back_ , a melancholy singer crooned over the speakers. _I don't need them anymore._

Sherry closed her eyes and saw snow-capped mountains. She saw bleak apartment blocks and markets with empty shelves and train tracks that stretched into the distance but went nowhere. The dusty scent carried her further, to onion-domed churches and defaced statues of Lenin standing in humble town squares. She breathed him in, this maddening man who was so familiar and yet entirely his own, and felt a wall inside of her collapse.

A piano twined with a guitar and the singer's voice as the song crescendoed. _I've come home. Home..._

Sherry launched herself onto him, found the sides of Jake's face with her hands and slammed her mouth against his. The cut on his lip split open and blood ran into her mouth. The taste was more intoxicating that any shot of whiskey, any wine, any other kiss or caress could ever be. She hadn't wanted a man this badly since...since...

"The hell?" Jake shoved her back. "Did you drug me?"

Sherry recoiled and stood up, scarcely believing what she'd just done.

"What? No!" she insisted as Jake clambered to his feet, his chest heaving with shock.

"You are the worst honeypot _ever_ ," he snarled and wiped his bloodied mouth with the back of his hand. "Where did your aunt really run off to? What the fuck is going on here?"

"Nothing! It's just..." Sherry felt desperation rising within her, but swallowed it. She had to make him understand. She _had_ to.

"Tell me I'm not crazy," Sherry coaxed softly. Locking Jake in her sights, she took a step forward, then another. Jake stared back, turmoil written on his face, but he did not move away. When their bodies were nearly touching, Sherry reached out, hooked her fingers through his belts loops and ever so gently tugged. "You feel it too, don't you?" she whispered.

Jake threw her down on the couch and was straddling her body in an instant. His hands worked at her blouse's buttons, pulling it open and off. Without missing a beat, Sherry wrenched her arms behind her back and unhooked her bra. His hand burrowed under the loosened fabric and closed over her right breast. She gasped and arched her back to meet his grasp.

"Not so bad after all, huh?" Sherry said with a giggle.

Jake broke into a giddy grin. "Yeah, I can work with this."

Then he descended on her. The full weight of his body stretched over hers and their mouths locked together with a force that made Sherry shudder. She let her hands wander under his shirt and felt scarred skin and rigid muscle. She felt something else hard and determined grinding against her inner thigh.

Sherry pulled away from their kiss and brought her mouth close to his ear. "You can, if you want to," she murmured.

Jake pushed himself up on his hands. He looked confused, like man just woken from a dream. "Are you serious?" he gaped. "Here? Now?"

"You tell me," Sherry teased. "You're the one on top of me."

He shook his head. "This is crazy. I met you, like, four hours ago. We shouldn't—"

"Shut up." Sherry laid a hand on his cheek. "I need this," she told Jake. "I need _you_."

He wavered for a moment, then his eyes narrowed.

"To hell with it," Jake growled.

The bruise on her cheek screamed for mercy as their lips collided again, but the pain aroused her all the more. His hands found her waistband and began to pull. Just a few wriggles and tugs and her leggings would be off. Then it would be his turn.

_Yes, hold me down. Do whatever you want to me. Make me beg. Make me scream your name. Just don't let go..._

"Oh. My. God."

They both started and Jake's head jerked around to face the doorway. Over his shoulder, Sherry saw Jessica standing on the other side of the room.

"I...I forgot my scarf..." Jessica began, clearly stunned. Then her face hardened. "Okay, how does the sad girl snag a guy and I can't?" she snapped. Jessica tilted her pretty head as she looked at Jake. "Whatever, he's kinda busted, anyway. As you were, kids."

Jessica turned on her heel and Sherry thought she heard the front door close, though it was hard to hear anything over the thudding of her racing heart.

Jake got off of her and stood. He didn't look at Sherry while he straightened his clothes.

"Look, Anne. Tonight was...I mean, you're..." he said numbly. "I'm not really sure _what_ you are."

"Wait! Let me explain," Sherry stammered as she sat up. "She wasn't suppose to be here—"

Jake cut her off with an angry grunt. "Tell your aunt my people will be in touch," he said before he stalked out of the room.

As Sherry watched him go, it felt like he was walking away with a piece of her.

* * *

The details of Ada's October report bounced around in Alex's mind as she unlocked the apartment door.

_Name: Jakob Konrád Muller. Known alias: Jake Muller._

She head the hum of perky voices and headed for the living room.

_Birthdate: November 20, 1985. Birthplace: People's Republic of Edonia (present-day Edonia)._

She found Sherry hunched over on the couch, wrapped in a down comforter. She was staring blankly at a morning news show on TV but looked up when Alex entered. Alex gasped when she saw the dark bruise marring Sherry's right cheek.

"Ever have one of those nights when you replay all the mistakes you've ever made?" Sherry muttered as her sunken eyes wandered back to the television.

"Did he do that to you?" Alex demanded.

"No. Bar fight. He left." Sherry sounded exhausted. "He said his people would be in touch."

Alex wheeled around and rushed down the hall to the kitchen.

_Mother's name: Sybil Muller. Known alias: Prophet. Birthdate: March 12, 1959. Nationality: Edonian. Occupation: Umbrella Security Service operative (former)._

"Is this the one he drank out of?" Alex clamored as she burst back into the room, clutching a tall glass in her hand. "Is this it?"

"Yes, yes! Just leave me alone, okay?" Sherry moaned.

_Father: Unknown._

Alex set the glass on a side table and grasped Sherry by the shoulders.

"Tell me about him. Your observations. Now."

"He's..." Sherry's voice faltered, then she raised her head and looked Alex in the eye. "He's rude. He's trouble. I screwed up and let him get under my skin." Her face clouded over with some secret emotion and she said, "He's smart, but he tries to hide it. Don't ask me why."

"Is that so?" Alex let go of her and stood up straight. "That mother of his must've had a sense of humor. Do you know what the name Jakob means?"

Sherry shook her head.

"Supplanter," Alex breathed. "Usurper." The words felt like victory on her lips. She turned to the windows and let out a satisfied sigh.

"I can't believe it!" Alex shouted to the bright New York morning. "I have a nephew!"


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

_I can't look  
I'm so blind  
I lost my heart  
I lost my mind  
Without you_

" _Without You," David Guetta feat. Usher_

* * *

_Cairo, Egypt_

_June 8, 2007_

_It was only sex_ , he reminded himself for the thousandth time. A base attraction born of proximity and familiarity, nothing more. Besides, what man didn't like coming home to a pliant body in his bed?

_Or a sharp mind and even sharper tongue. Or that smell of roses..._

Wesker gripped the railing harder as he stared down at the massive dance floor where young bodies and laser lights pulsed in time with the beat.

_No, I was obsessed. I didn't see her clearly. I never did. I couldn't._

And today was Sherry's birthday. Somewhere out there, she was 21 years old. Wesker had succeeded in not thinking about it until last night, when Excella appeared at his hotel suite's door with a bottle of champagne in hand. Wearing a simple ivory dress with her hair down around her shoulders, she'd never looked more beautiful. At long last, he nearly gave in. Then he remembered his foolish vow to Sherry— _just promise me you'll never touch her—_ and claimed he had a headache.

This was the third night of his and Excella's progress through the Middle East and North Africa on their way to the Kijuju facility. They were accruing money and manpower with every stop, and even helped a few regional regimes rid their crowded prisons of some inmates—grist for Urobouros.

Things had been going well for so long. He was consumed with the task at hand and forced himself to forget everything else. Wesker was not a man prone to dwelling on the past to begin with.

But after last night, the floodgates were open and he could scarcely believe all the little memories that came back to him, unwanted and unbidden.

"Sherry, why did you rename my laptop's hard drive 'Dat Ass'?"

"So you can back dat ass up," she'd deadpanned.

Her, reading in bed and trying to pretend she wasn't happy to see him. Her, throwing snowballs at trees. Her, clutching at the pillow behind her head while he eased into her and she moaned his name.

"Your habit of getting attached to normal people is not exactly admirable," he'd once chided Sherry when he realized she was becoming too chummy with the other Tricell executive candidates.

Sherry rolled her eyes at that, then did something she knew annoyed him to no end: reached up and mussed his hair.

"Oh Al, you're my spirit animal," she'd said with a wicked grin. "Don't ever change."

_But I did change. I changed because you left me no choice. You and Spencer..._

"Albert, is it all right if I leave you here for a moment?" Excella's honeyed breath warmed his ear. He didn't turn to look at her. "I need to make a call," she said.

"Of course, yes." He waved her off.

It had been Excella's idea to come to this club tonight. Maybe she thought the sight of all these gyrating bodies would inspire him to do a little foxtrot of their own later. But between the heat, his black clothes and his impenetrable sunglasses, Wesker only felt out of place.

He lifted his head and watched Excella walk towards a roped-off VIP area, cell phone in hand. It was painfully obvious that she was in love with him—or more precisely, the man she thought he was. Now that Oliveira was gone, Wesker realized the younger man had merely been a distraction, an aperitif before the main course.

_Saving the best for last, my dear?_

There were times when Excella reminded him of a woman he'd known long ago. That woman had been tougher than Excella, hardened by life in a hopeless Communist country long before she'd entered Umbrella's employ, but she was just as shameless.

It would be so easy. He could grab Excella's wrist, pull her into the nearest restroom and be done with it. But if he ever saw Sherry again, he wanted to be able to throw his self-restraint in her face.

_See, chatelaine? I kept one of my promises after all. It seems the only traitor here is you._

An older memory came to him now, one of people gathered around a bonfire in the middle of winter.

"Yes, tree people! Good job!" Chris was jubilant and already drunk as they threw the dried-up fir onto the fire. It was the RPD's annual post-holiday bonfire, where everyone gathered to burn their wilted Christmas trees and have a few beers in a snowy field outside the city.

"Crap, there's still tinsel on it," Wesker noticed as the tree began to catch.

"Eh," they said in unison, then they backed away as the fire crackled and flared. The flames shot high into the night sky and sparks that were once pine needles sputtered from the conflagration. An awed _ooohhh_ went up from the crowd.

"It is wrong if this is my favorite part of Christmas?" Wesker asked as they settled into a pair of lawn chairs and Chris handed him a beer from a nearby cooler.

"What, you didn't go home and visit your folks?"

Wesker shrugged. "Holidays aren't really our thing anymore."

"You could've come over to my place," Chris offered. "My sister was in town. You ever meet her?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Next year, okay?" Chris said.

There would not be a next year.

_Chris, you could've joined me, but you didn't understand. You lacked vision. No one else sees what I see. I am..._

The DJ bounded into the next track, a dance remix of a cloying song that, unfortunately enough, was titled "Umbrella," and the crowd squealed its approval.

_I am alone._

Once, he wanted to make a world where he and Sherry could take their rightful places and live in the open. But he didn't want salvation any more. He just wanted it all to be over.

A young woman passed nearby. He spied her blue sundress and blond hair from the corner of his eye and felt panic grip him. It couldn't be.

She was heading for the stairs that led to the rooftop patio. Wesker ran up after her. The patio was crowded but the young woman turned and saw him.

She was not Sherry. She didn't even look like her.

_Idiot! Fool!_

Why did he get caught up on the girl's long hair when Sherry had hacked hers off and left it all over the bathroom floor?

The girl gave him a hesitant smile.

_I could have you,_ he thought savagely. _And you would like it._

Instead, Wesker turned and went back down the stairs. There was no point. It would never be good with anyone else ever again.

* * *

Sherry felt like she couldn't even think freely in Alex's presence anymore. She'd been irritated with the older woman ever since her deception about Jake. But as usual, Alex had an explanation.

"I couldn't tell you my suspicions about Jakob," she told Sherry that March morning. "It would've tainted your observations."

"But why did it have to be me?" Sherry wanted to know. "Why didn't you use Jessica instead?"

"Because Jessica doesn't have what you have. I was counting on you to call to him, just like you do with the animals."

_He called to me, too._

"And who's his mother?" Sherry had demanded.

"I met her a few times, years ago." Alex was so pleased with herself that day, her purple eyes flashing as she unraveled the tale. "She called herself 'Prophet' back then, because she had a way of pulling off missions everyone else said were impossible. She was a U.S.S. operative based in Raccoon City. I don't know how she met my brother, but she left the country in 1985—pregnant with his baby, it seems."

And the epithelial cells gathered from Jake's used glass confirmed it. He and Alex were related.

_I pretended to be his child for years, and all that time, he had a real son._

"Jakob certainly favors his mother's side," Alex had concluded. "He hardly looks like my brother, don't you think?"

_Look at his eyes, idiot,_ Sherry wanted to say.

The cursed Wesker family, carrying on to another generation despite all odds. How would Jake feel if he knew he had his grandfather's eyes?

Sherry thought about all this and more as she saddled Midnight for their morning ride.

It was already warm outside though it was not yet noon. Midnight seemed agitated today. He kept stamping at the ground. Sherry wondered if he was getting sick, though Dr. Fisher assured her Midnight was immune to the maladies that affected normal horses.

The dogs ran on ahead, sniffing for prey as usual. Sherry untied the bandana at her neck and mopped her sweaty face with it. It was going to be a hot day, but she wouldn't let it ruin her few hours of freedom. When she was with Alex and Jessica or the guards, she made her whole body into a rigid mask. Beyond her "gentlewoman's agreement" with Alex, she did not trust any of them. But as long as she felt the valley's fresh air on her face and Midnight's strong body beneath her, she could relax and let her mind wander.

And although she'd neither seen nor heard from him since that strange night in March, she found herself thinking about Jake far too often. He was like her somehow, Sherry was sure of it. And what did Alex have planned for him?

Maybe, after Excella was dead and she was free, Sherry would seek Jake out and tell him the truth—the truth about them both.

_And then what?_

The feel of him, the indescribable _taste._ Try as she might, Sherry could not forget, nor forgive herself.

_I slept with the father and threw myself at the son. Very, very classy._

No, that last part was not her fault, Sherry reminded herself. If only Alex had told her who Jake was, she would never, _ever_ have touched him.

_I'll just keep telling myself that._

She would understand someday, Carlos had once said. _When some man finally makes you smile for real..._

Midnight was still uneasy. He let out a long, high whinny and shook his head from side to side. Sherry leaned forward in her saddle to pet his mane. The Furies stopped in their tacks and looked back at her.

_I'll sing for him. That'll calm him down. They like it when I sing._

Sherry stroked Midnight's neck a moment longer, racking her brain for an easy lullaby or love ballad. Then, as she moved to right herself, a chunk of the horse's hide slid away under her hand like a slab of rotten meat. Midnight reared up and threw Sherry off his back.

* * *

"It was a pipe dream," Dr. Fisher said in his best I-told-you-so voice. "We controlled their infections for this long, and frankly that alone was a bit of a miracle."

"So in other words, they're decomposing?" Alex asked as she folded her arms.

"Yes, from the inside out."

Sherry was in the lab now, scraped and sore but otherwise unhurt. One of the scientists found a folding chair for her after she helped get the hounds back to their kennel. Midnight fought though, sloughing off more skin and hair as Sherry tried in vain to pacify him. Alex had finally pulled her aside so the guards could use their stun guns. Now, she heard Midnight's anguished cries through the walls.

"Are they in pain?" Sherry wondered aloud. She shifted in the uncomfortable chair and it creaked under her.

"The horse is, without a doubt," Fisher told her. "His muscles are turning to jelly. Degeneration happened quickly, probably within the past 24 hours." He turned back to Alex. "There's nothing more I can do here."

Alex pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "Very well, send in the boys—"

"No." Sherry stood up. "Let me. I can keep them calm."

Everyone in the room turned to stare at her.

"Are you _sure_?" Alex said after a moment.

"That's...I don't think..." Fisher stammered.

Sherry cut him off. "I should do it because they're mine."

* * *

The dogs were first. She went to the kennel and led them out one by one to a room the guards had prepared inside the lab. Nyx was hesitant to step on the huge plastic tarp laid on the floor, but Sherry coaxed her onto it. Holding her hand flat before her, Sherry commanded the dog to sit, which Nyx did dutifully. Then Sherry switched the safety off on the Browning HP.

It was like an assembly line. The guards dragged each dog out on a tarp after it stopped twitching, then laid a new canvas while Sherry fetched the next hound. But by the time she got to Megaera, the room reeked of blood and gun smoke. The biggest of the hounds, Megaera wavered as Sherry led her by the collar. She dragged Megaera onto the tarp while trying not to look at the one-way mirror in the wall. She knew Alex was watching from behind it. Sherry took a moment to summon the force within her and focused it onto the dog.

"Megaera, sit," she said sternly.

With an anxious whine, the hound complied and received half a dozen bullets in her head for her trouble.

Midnight was lying down in his stall when the guards let Sherry in. The horse was a mess of blood and exposed muscle. He was breathing heavily but made no other sound.

_Think of something else._

She put a fresh clip into her gun and saw a pair of burning orange-red irises dance before her. They turned to a watery blue in her mind's eye.

_No, not them._

Midnight lifted his putrefying head and tried to stand as she approached.

_Don't think of them._

But Sherry did. As she pulled the trigger, she thought of them both.

"Where do you think you're going?" Alex asked Sherry outside the room.

"To get ready. We still have that thing in the city tonight, right?" Sherry set the pistol on a metal table and brushed past Alex. "By the way, today's my birthday," she said over her shoulder.

* * *

"Well thank God our laws aren't written by busybody housewives like _you_ who think we need to legislate whether your neighbor is getting fucked more often that you are!"

It was one of the more unorthodox arguments Sherry had heard for gay rights, but at least Alex was passionate.

"They're written by lobbyists, like my second husband," Alex sniffed. She leaned over to Sherry. "I divorced him, too. _Long_ story," she rasped in a mock whisper.

The woman Alex had been haranguing was turning red with rage and looked like she was about to lash out, but a middle-aged man suddenly appeared at her side.

"Ma'am, if I may?" he said. "My colleague has some very...strong views."

He led the woman into the next room while Alex held her empty wineglass out to Sherry.

"Well, go on. Red this time."

"I think you've had enough."

"As if you're the only one here who had a bad day?" Alex said miserably, the amethyst shadow simmering behind her blue contact lenses. "I _hate_ it when I'm wrong, if you can't tell."

The man returned and Sherry wondered if they'd met before. He looked so familiar.

"Oh, Vic!" Alex trilled. "This is Sherry. Yes, _the_ Sherry."

"I thought that might be her," he said to Alex with a grin before he turned to Sherry. "Victor Armand. A pleasure to finally meet you, young lady. I've heard so many interesting things about you."

"Hi there," Sherry said softly as she shook Victor's hand. She didn't like the sound of any of that, and this man somehow reminded her of...

"Now, you need to go apologize to Mrs. Rapp," Victor told Alex.

"But she's just awful!" Alex insisted. "Totally antediluvian."

"Too bad," he said. "Her husband sits on the House Committee on Science and we need their support."

The two adults fell into conversation and Sherry quietly sidled away.

The rest of the plush penthouse was crowded with people. The day's heat still lingered and the guests gravitated toward windows and a large balcony that offered a breathtaking view of lower Manhattan.

The Organization's informal meetings could pass for any other high society gathering, but the conversation was decidedly serious. No idle chatter of charity auctions or summer weddings here. Sherry heard fragments of strange things; which politicians could be bought, which biopharma companies were "moving forward" on projects. There was talk of instability in foreign counties, specifically southeastern Europe and a part of Africa she'd never heard of.

Jessica's laughter drew her attention and suddenly Sherry knew why Victor looked so familiar.

Sean saw her, too. He said something to Jessica before leaving her. Sean's faced was placid—a mask, Sherry realized—but he jerked his head to the side as he approached.

_The hallway._

She walked as quickly as she dared, away from the sounds of life and into a darkened bedroom where Sean closed the door and embraced her fiercely while she wept into his collar.

"You're okay, you're okay," she sobbed.

"Jesus Christ, what are you doing here?" Sean asked as he pulled back to look at her.

"My...my aunt..." Sherry said helplessly. "But why...how...?" She wiped away her tears with the heel of her hand. "Are Bianca and Ashwin okay? I think about them all the time."

"Yeah, they're okay. They're still in Zurich. Everything's..." Sean wavered. "well, not exactly fine. Excella's basically disappeared. So has your dad. Nobody knows what they're up to."

This matched with what Carlos had told her in October, and she wondered just how much Sean knew—how much he'd always known.

Sherry nodded, then asked, "But why are _you_ here?"

Sean sighed and sat down at the foot of the room's bed. "Look, I may as well tell you: I work for the Consortium."

Sherry blinked. "You quit Tricell?"

"No, I mean I _always_ worked for the Consortium. My dad got me into the executive training program so I could keep tabs on Tricell from inside. They were suspicious of your dad from the start." Sean's face was hard and serious. "The Consortium was worried about my cover getting blown after the incident in London, so I transferred to Tricell's Boston office."

"Did you try to find out what happened to me?" Sherry wanted to know. _Did anyone care? Did I ever really have allies?_

"I poked around, yeah, but I got major push-back. Then my dad told me you were okay and he helped me make up a story about getting mugged." he said. "Officially, you quit and split. Some people even said you went over to a rival company."

Sherry shook her head. "That's not what happened."

"I know." Sean stood up and put a hand lightly on Sherry's bare arm. "You're special and you gotta be protected. You're a survivor of Raccoon City. Yeah, I found out about that. And your dad is too, right?"

_After a fashion_ , Sherry thought, but she said nothing.

Sean drew closer to her. "My dad said you were safe with that woman—your aunt, right? But...damn! I didn't think I'd find you running around in New York City."

Sherry turned her head and the subject. "The Consortium...my aunt's work. It doesn't make sense."

"Sure it does. They're all trying to keep a lid on this bioterror stuff."

Sherry looked up at him, suddenly wanting to get away, to make him stop touching her. Regret and suspicion began to fog her mind.

"Sean, I'm sorry you got dragged into my stupid drama," she said. "If I could take it all back—"

"Oh my God, do _not_ say that! Look, I..." Sean's voice almost broke. "I started falling for you the night we met. That red dress, your hair. I still remember it. You looked like a princess," he said gently. "I wanted you to be _my_ princess."

Sherry drew her arms around herself and held in a shiver.

_No, you don't want that. Can't you smell the blood?_

"Was there ever a chance for us?" Sean asked. "Just answer me honestly."

Sherry stared down at her feet. "No," she told him. "No, there wasn't."

She heard Sean draw in a long breath. "Okay, that's..." He stood up straight and stepped away from her. "I gotta get back out there."

"I'm sorry," was all she could say. Then Sherry leaned forward and kissed Sean on the cheek—she felt like she owed him that much—and felt him wince before he turned away and walked out the door.

_It hurts him now,_ Sherry told herself. _But at least he's free of me_.

* * *

That night, she dreamed of Jake for the first time. They made love on the couch in Alex's apartment and the vision was so vivid, Sherry swore she could feel him surging inside her. Then it all turned dark, and she and Jake were running through alleys and bombed-out courtyards—running for their lives. Something terrible was chasing them.

Finally, she saw Jake on his knees in front of her and Sherry realized she was pointing a pistol at his head. She woke with a cry and hugged her knees for a long time while the sun rose over the city beyond her window. She thought of her parents and Sean, Wesker and her poor dead pets.

Loss upon loss upon loss.


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

 

_If this is redemption, why do I bother at all?  
There's nothing to mention and nothing has changed  
Still I'd rather be working at something than praying for the rain  
So I wander on till someone else is saved_

 

_\--“We Don't Eat,” James Vincent McMorrow_

 

_September 29, 2007_

 

The guard led Sherry to the dining room's doorway. Alex waved him away when she saw them and Sherry walked to where the older woman sat at the head of a long mahogany table that could've seated 20 people. 

The walls of the dining room were lined with green damask and Victorian-era portraits stared down at her, probably purchased by the mansion's first owner to give his faux European castle a sheen of propriety. Alex's estate was certainly old by American standards, but Sherry had seen too much of the real thing to be fooled. And instead of a grand dinner party, the room only hosted Alex and one guest.

“You need to see me?” Sherry asked as she assessed the man seated to Alex's left. 

He was pale and serious-looking with a lined, hawkish face, a dark goatee and even darker hair. His stooped shoulders made him looked older than he probably was. Another member of the Organization, perhaps? 

“This is...?” The man looked up at Sherry with beady eyes. 

“Yes Derek, it's her,” Alex told him.

“I wonder,” Derek said with a grin. “Does she live up to the hype?” 

Maybe he was trying to be genial, but came off as creepy instead. Sherry was growing quite tired of strangers who knew too much about her.

“Depends on who's asking,” Sherry said, staring back at Derek.

“Sherrele, we have a little task for you,” Alex broke in.

A thrill of excitement and worry shot through. 

_Task? As in, finally get out of the damn house?_

But this was Alex Wesker, the woman who'd helped wrench Sherry away from her old life, the woman who'd thrown her into a room with Jake just to see what would happen. What could she possibly have in store now?

On the other hand, Sherry had been cooling her heels for far too long. After June's events, Dr. Fisher judged the experiment with the animals a failure, so Alex gave Sherry a “summer project” of sorting and scanning her archives. Upstairs, there was a room packed to the ceiling with boxes: Alex's own research, along with other Umbrella scientists' lab notes and files. Some of the documents were decades old. Alex said she'd “liberated” the files before leaving Umbrella, and many of them never made it into the Red Queen database. Most of the papers weren't very interesting, but Sherry read them all, if only to help pass the time. There'd been no more talk of Excella and her trigger finger was getting itchy.

Sherry reached up to tug at the gold chain around her neck—the place where she now kept her pearl ring because it no longer seemed to fit right. 

“What do you need me to do?” she asked Alex.

Derek was the one who answered. “Tricell's illicit activities can no longer be ignored. I'm told you have experience with the company.” His voice was smooth, with a hint of amusement behind every word.

“We require a sample of the virus my brother is developing,” Alex added. “The one with the ridiculous name.”

_Uroboros again._

People had already died for that damn thing, and Sherry wasn't even sure what it could do. And why did Alex think she could infiltrate Tricell? She'd face hostility, not a friendly welcome. She'd face Wesker. 

There was a sudden pang in her chest and Sherry curled her fingers around the ring suspended from her neck. But didn't Wesker deserve to hear the truth about his lovely business partner—and the truth about his family? Didn't Sherry deserve a chance to finally explain herself? And if this mission could get her close to Excella...

Sherry let go of the ring and crossed her arms. “So what's the conspiracy _du jour_?” she said, unable to resist the urge to needle Alex.

Alex wrinkled her nose at Sherry then exchanged a look with her guest.

“Derek, why don't you check in with Dr. Fisher?” Alex asked him mildly.

“Sounds like a plan.” Derek pushed back from the table. “Miss Birkin, truly a pleasure.” He gave Sherry a nod as he left the room. She waited for the door to close before she turned on Alex. 

“You're asking me this on today of all days?” Sherry demanded.

Alex blinked her purple eyes. “What do you mean? It's...Saturday?”

_Did she forget? How can she not know?_

Today was the anniversary of Raccoon City's last day, and nine years since she'd lost her parents. Wesker always remembered. He knew it was a hard day for her.

“Sherrele,” Alex began with a sigh. “Derek Simmons is our man at the National Security Agency. He's very influential. Please find it in yourself to treat him with respect.”

“Respect? He was practically undressing me with his eyes!”

“Stop getting offended every time someone notices your value!” Alex snapped back. “Now sit down.” 

Sherry complied with a scowl, slouching into the chair to Alex's right.

“My brother and Ms. Gionne are on their way back to Tricell headquarters from the research facility they've set up in West Africa,” Alex said. “We have reason to believe they have a viable sample of  Uroboros in their possession. They're currently in a Turkish coastal city. You will intercept them there.” 

“Turkey?” Sherry was perplexed. “What are they doing there?”

“A little vacation, I suppose,” Alex said casually. “My sources say they're pretty much inseparable these days.” 

Sherry felt her face flush. Alex was baiting her, she was sure of it.

The older woman waved her hand. “Anyway,  Jessica has worked with Tricell before. She knows their security protocols, so she will perform the reconnaissance along with Ada. And you...” Alex pointed a finger at Sherry. “will assist them.” 

She did not like the sound of that at all. 

“Can I...?” Sherry ventured. “I mean, after we get the sample, is Excella mine?”

Alex frowned. “We'll see.”

Sherry's mouth went dry. “But we had an agreement,” she said as calmly as she could. “That's why I cooperated with you in the first place. She dies, then I walk away.”

“Freedom!” Alex snorted. “Do you know what that really means? Poverty. Always watching your back. Selling your skills and maybe more just so you can eat.” She reached across the table and grabbed Sherry's hand. “Sherrele, look at me. You are destined for so much more than that. You're the Red Princess!”

_But not on my terms. Never on my terms._ Sherry wanted to pull away from Alex's grasp and run out of the room, but Alex's hand was around her wrist now, cold and rigid like a handcuff.

“Do you want a prince?” Alex asked, grinning broadly. “Yes, Jessica told me what she saw on St. Patrick's Day. I can get him for you, if you like.”

Sherry shivered at the thought of a human being ordered up like an entree. Fillet of redhead with seasonal vegetables and a balsamic reduction. Alex probably knew the perfect wine pairing, too.

“Leave Jake out of this,” she said. 

“Oh, I'm just watching him for now, making sure he doesn't get into too much trouble.” Alex let go of her wrist and sat back in her chair. “Jakob will be stronger than my brother one day. You want to be around to see that, don't you?”

_The usurper,_ Alex once called Jake. _The overthrower_. But who or what would he overthrow?

Sherry stood up. “What do _you_ really want, Alex?” she asked. “You say you want others to fail, but I think you just want everyone's power for yourself.”

“It certainly seems that way, doesn't it?” Alex chuckled.

Sherry stared at Alex for a moment, trying to process what she was hearing.

“But...” she said with a gulp. “The things you saw at Umbrella...and your parents...”

“I _learned_ from all that,” Alex replied sharply. “I learned from their mistakes, even my father's. Those fools went about it the wrong way.” She stood up too, shoving her chair in with a sudden, swift movement that made Sherry jump. 

“My brother, Tricell—they think they know the future, but they've already got one foot in the grave.” The older woman drew herself up to her full height and looked straight at Sherry. “Stand with me. There's not much time left.”

“Time until what?” Sherry whispered, dread mounting within her.

“Sherrele, I do what I can, but one person alone can't stop a war.” Alex flourished her fingers like a bird taking flight. “Benefit from it, certainly, but not stop it.”

The late afternoon sun was streaming through the dining room's tall windows, turning the walls and furniture the color of pale gold, but Alex's amethyst eyes pulsed with their own supernatural light. Sherry wondered what monstrous things swam through the older woman's blood.

“When it starts, there won't be any more countries or alliances,” Alex went on breathlessly. “There will only be humanity.” She raised her hands, palms upturned like a statue of the Madonna. “But who understands how these viruses work? Who can create vaccines? I'll be welcomed as a savior.”

“Why?” was all Sherry could say, but Alex was giddy, winding up into a grand finish. 

“We can hit the reset button,” she said. “I will impose equality. I will impose justice. The infected will become our armies.” Alex took a step towards Sherry. “Your special talents will control them. All you have to say is 'yes' and you'll have it all: power, Jakob, everything.”

“You are fucking _evil_ ,” Sherry hissed.

“Are you're not?” Alex raised an amused eyebrow. “You and Jessica are going and that's final.”

  


The flight didn't leave until morning, so Sherry had time to devise a plan. But as she returned to the file room and plunked down in the chair next to a desk, no ideas came. Instead, a cold panic enveloped her and she rocked forward in her seat and wrapped her arms around her stomach. Alex's eerie kindness and all the secrets she told Sherry had made her complacent, and that was even more dangerous than misplaced trust. 

_No one can say I wasn't willing._

After a few minutes, she felt calmer and Sherry sat up and ran a hand through her hair. Her pixie cut was getting shaggy; it was nearly time for another visit to Fernando. But it all seemed so trivial now, so distant. Change the world, save the world, take over the world. Why did no one in her life have normal ambitions—and why were they always trying to make her an accomplice?

_I'm not like her. I won't let her use me. I won't._

But Alex was right about one thing: Sherry had no idea what freedom entailed. She'd only ever been a child, ward, mistress or a prisoner. Someone else was always in charge. Someone else always gave her a purpose. She stood at the nexus of a cabal's ambitions and yet she'd never so much as pumped her own gas or paid a Cable bill. Sherry would've laughed if it wasn't so horrible.

She returned to sorting the box of documents she'd just pulled out of a corner when the guard first came for her. Sherry hoped the banal task would help quiet her mind so she could focus.

This box was full of dusty notebooks and lab notes, many held together precariously with paper clips—par for the course. Then she noticed a name written at the top of one page: _W. Birkin_. It was dated January 17, 1998.

Sherry seized the thin sheaf of papers. They were stapled together and looked like they'd been torn out of a spiral-bound notebook. Her father's looping cursive hand was undeniable. Sherry remembered him always scribbling on notepads, or on any scrap of paper he could find for that matter. If Dr. Birkin had an idea, he had to get it out of his head that very instant.

She read the first line, which seemed to start in the middle of a thought.

_If the subject is genetically compatible with the viral agent, it may be possible for them to gain certain abilities but retain outward human characteristics and full cognitive function._

Sherry shoved the papers under the front of her sweater, stood up and poked her head into the hall.

“I'm done for the day,” she called to the guard standing by the stairs. He took her back to her bedroom suite. After she heard the door's lock click into place, she dove onto her bed, pulled out the notes and feverishly began to read. 

_To my knowledge, successful integration has yet to be achieved by any research team,_ her father's next sentence read. _Lord Spencer recently approached me about the possibility. I'm not sure if I should be concerned or if it was just one of his whims. I haven't told Al yet. Some people say Spencer is getting senile, anyway. We hardly see him any more._

Night was closing in outside the bedroom windows. Sherry paused to switch on her bedside lamp, then flipped to the next page. 

_I'm not sure Spencer fully understands what he's asking for. What if these theoretical “humanoid B.O.W.” retained their sexual reproductive capacity? Would they seek each other out? If, for all intents and purposes, they appear human, will they be able to “sense” each other's true natures? Would they bond and work together? Would they just tear each other limb from limb?_

Next, her father began some notations on viral structure that she did not understand. She flipped to the next page, nearly tearing the previous one in her haste. Sherry's heart raced when she saw the train of thought pick up.

_Given the extreme territoriality and aggressive behavior exhibited by B.O.W.s in lab settings, the prospect of two such subjects “mating” is rather unsettling. I'd like to remind Spencer there's a reason Umbrella has never attempted breeding programs. The results would be the very definition of unpredictable._

She set the papers down on her bedspread. They were crinkled from where she'd gripped them. 

_It's only speculation. He was just thinking out loud_ , she told herself.

But her father had been a brilliant man, and his words brought sense to too many things. Aggression, territorially... Of course she couldn't tolerate a rival. Of course the only alternative was to kill Excella. The dark things in her own blood made it so. 

Sherry read the notes again and again until her eyes ached. Across an ocean, the sun rose over Zurich and Ibiza, then the Pyrenees and London. The dawn moved onward, across the miles and hours until it illuminated the hills around Alex's estate and brought a new day to the Hudson Valley. By the time Sherry finished memorizing her father's words, dawn had broken over a city-sized crater in Colorado. 

Sherry lifted her head to look out the window. She hadn't run from her problems; she'd abandoned her mate.

 

_Izmir, Turkey_

_October 3, 2007_

 

Autumn on the Aegean coast felt nothing like fall in New York. The day's lingering heat made Sherry's shirtdress cling to her skin and her new espadrilles chafed her feet.

She and Jessica met Ada on a restaurant's outdoor patio. They were in Izmir's busy Konak district, surrounded by modern office buildings and hotels. The patio overlooked a wide public square dotted with palm trees. Beyond the square, Sherry could see the waterfront and Izmir's bay, which the city curved around like a crescent. It was the middle of Ramadan, and the evening was remarkably quiet because people rushed home right after work to break their day-long fasts. But for all that, Turkey prided itself on being a secular country. The young women Sherry saw on the street were dressed in jeans and high heels, with not a headscarf in sight.

For their part, Sherry and her companions had adopted the cover of clueless American tourists, and Jessica was playing it to the hilt. Or maybe she wasn't playing at all.

“Where _is_ everybody?” she complained before she knocked back the rest of a glass of white wine. 

“It's less than ideal,” Ada agreed. “I was hoping to have crowds for cover. Still, there's enough people around.” She set down her menu and looked at Jessica. “We'll check out their hotels first. We don't know which of them has the sample. I'm guessing Wesker has it, but it could very well be with Excella. Alex's mole in Tricell says Wesker trusts her more and more every day.” Now Ada's dark gaze flicked onto Sherry. “Or he's growing dependent on her.”

_Don't go there_ , Sherry wished she could say.

Jessica laced her fingers and leaned across the table. “So, this Wesker guy. Alex never calls him by his name. It's always 'my brother' this and 'my brother' that. They must really hate each other.”

“I wouldn't know,” Ada said.

Sherry stared down at her menu and ignored the conversation. She couldn't stop thinking about her father's notes, and worrying that Alex had planted them for her to find. But they'd been in a box in a corner, buried by other document boxes. It had taken her all summer to come across them. She was probably being paranoia. On the other hand, was it even possible to overestimate Alex?

Ada and Jessica were talking about Jessica's perpetual boy problems.

“Yeah, I see him when he's in New York. Otherwise, we do our own thing,” Jessica sighed. “I guess I'm cool with it. Holy crap, _where_ is our waiter?” Her pretty features contorted into a grimace, then she snapped her head around to face Sherry.  “Oh! Speaking of boys: Did you ever hear from Scarface again?”

“Scarface?” Ada suddenly looked worried. “You don't mean...?”

Jessica went on before Sherry could respond. “Okay, check this out, Ada. St. Patrick's Day. I walk into the living room and she'd with this guy, half-naked and about to...”

“Don't, Jessica,” Sherry hissed. “I mean it. _Don't_.”

“Say hello to his little friend!” Jessica reared back in her plastic chair and cackled. “I thought you had better taste than that! He had hella bad skin.”

Sherry glowered at her before saying, “He was just an assignment.”

Now if only she could convince herself of that.

 

“Why are they staying in separate hotels?” Sherry asked.

“Standard safety protocol,” Jessica said without putting down her binoculars. “Besides, smart people don't flaunt their affairs.” 

They were looking out the window of an office building across the street from one of the Konak district's many high-end hotels. All the office workers were gone for the day and Jessica conveniently had a key card that got them inside and up several floors for a good vantage point of the hotel's main entrance. 

The room was stuffy and dark; the tepid air outside was a cool mountain breeze in comparison.

“Affairs?” Sherry wiped a film of sweat from her upper lip.

“Yeah, but what do you care?” Now Jessica looked back at her with a grin. “It's _just_ an assignment. Anyway, I think that's her car.”

“Let me see!” She yanked the binoculars away from Jessica, who gasped and shot her a sour look, but then stepped back. 

Sherry dropped to her knees in front of the window. She did not recognize the black car pulling up to the curb across the street, but she knew the woman who stepped out of it. Excella's long black braid was coiled like a snake on the back of her head and a short fuchsia dress hugged her curves. Her hatred for the woman flared with such force that Sherry had to remind herself to keep breathing. 

“That's her,” Jessica said.

“Yeah,” she mouthed in reply. Sherry zoomed in and watched Excella greet the man standing by the hotel's entrance. The black suit, sunglasses and combed-back blond hair were all the same, and yet _he_ was not the same. Through the binoculars in her shaking hands, Wesker looked older than ever before. No, more than that. Wesker looked miserable.

Excella sauntered up to him and kissed him on the cheek, dangerously close to his mouth. Sherry thought she saw a flicker of a smile on his lips. For one terrible moment, her heart stopped. The dark force within her rose up, demanding blood. 

_Take back what is yours_ , it said _._

Sherry told it to be quiet. It didn't listen.

_You are a fool to bear this, Princess._

The duo got into the car's back seat and it drove away.

Jessica was on the phone with Ada now. “Move in. We have a confirmed sighting of them at the Hilton. Looks like they're going out for the night. They may be headed your way so—”

“No.” Sherry set the binoculars on the floor. “He wouldn't sleep with her. He wouldn't.”

Jessica gave her a puzzled look. “You have your orders,” she told Ada firmly. “I need to go.” She ended the call. “Okay, I've got the key to his room, so I want you to—”

Sherry dropped the binoculars and tackled Jessica, who let out a surprised shout as she hit the rough berber carpet. Before Jessica could squirm away, Sherry twisted behind her and put her in a headlock. Jessica kicked and wheezed as Sherry locked her forearm against her windpipe.

“Why did Alex send me here? _Why_!?” Sherry screamed in her ear.

“Fuck you!” Jessica rasped. “You fucking crazy brat!” 

She wrenched her head down and bit into Sherry's arm, making her yelp with pain and breaking her hold. Jessica scrambled to her feet, but not before giving Sherry a parting kick that knocked her flat on her back. She quickly rolled to one side to avoid another blow, then Sherry looked up and saw Jessica crouched in a fighting stance on the other side of the room.

“Oh hell yes,” Jessica said, bearing her teeth. “I've been waiting to do this _aaaalllllll_ year.” 

“You and me both,” Sherry spat back. She glanced over at the desk where she'd set her purse when they first entered the office. Only she knew what was inside...she hoped. 

Sherry locked eyes with Jessica for a split second, then sprung up and dashed to the desk. Jessica was on her in an instant. Office supplies, the purse and a computer monitor crashed down, along with two women in sundresses and sandals who were now grappling for their lives on the floor.

_If only Jack could see me now._

Cambering away from Jessica's frenzied hand, Sherry reached backward and seized the purse's shoulder strap. She flung it as hard as she could and its contents spilled across the carpet. Jessica grabbed at her hair, trying to drag her back into their battle.

“What now, bitch?” she shouted at Sherry. “What now?!”

Sherry turned over again and her hand found the small, sheathed hunting knife that had fallen out of her bag. Jessica's hands were at her throat now, her breath hot on Sherry's face. As quick as she could, Sherry unsheathed the knife, rolled back into Jessica's savage embrace and thrust the knife into her stomach. Jessica squeaked.

They lay on the carpet facing each other for what felt like an eternity, with Jessica's breathing growing louder and more rapid and her gray eyes flashing fear. Their faces were almost touching, their bodies connected by the thin metal blade in Sherry's hand. Jessica's hands were still flung around her neck. Sherry almost giggled when she realized they probably looked like a teenage boy's wet dream—with the exception of the bloody blossom slowly marring Jessica's purple dress.

“What now?” Sherry whispered. “I will kill you right here, _that's_ what.”

“Test—it's a test!” Jessica gasped out. “Your loyalty...Alex wanted to know for sure...”

“Well, I guess I failed,” Sherry said. “I'm here to kill Excella and nothing else.”

“You can't! She's too important!” Jessica wailed. “After we get the sample...I'm...I'm supposed to make sure you don't hurt her.” She was sobbing now. “Oh God, please just stop!”

“In a minute,” Sherry told her.

  


“Ada? Where the hell are you?” 

“A private hospital in downtown Izmir,” she said to Alex. The phone connection was bad. It sounded like the older woman was at the bottom of a well, all echoes and static. “Wait, I'm going outside.”

The emergency room's doors slid open and Ada stepped into the hospital's parking lot. It was near midnight and the city around her was quiet. She switched the cell phone to her other ear.

“Can you hear me? Look, there's no other way to say this: The mission failed. It looks like Sherry ran off. The sample wasn't in Excella's room, either.” She waited for Alex's reaction.

“Well, well, well,” Alex said after a moment. “What happened?”

“I'm not quite sure,” Ada admitted as she paced the pavement. “Jessica didn't answer her phone, so I went back to the stakeout site. She was unconscious and there were signs of a struggle. She's lost a lot of blood. If I hadn't found her when I did—”

“Where is Sherry now?” Alex broke in.

“I don't know. I was sort of busy making sure your operative didn't die and—wait.” Ada stopped in her tracks and started out at the empty street. “You're not surprised, are you?”

“Ada my dear, we can get an Uroboros sample any old time. That wasn't the point of the mission,” Alex said cooly. “I needed to see what Sherry's capable of.”

“What are you planning for her?” Ada demanded, clutching the cell phone tighter. “Sherry's been through things you can't even imagine. Why can't you leave her alone?”

Ada thought she heard Alex chuckle at this. It was all just a game, and Ada had been a pawn in it. Something snapped inside of her.

“That is _it_!” Ada shouted down the receiver. “You need to start being straight with me right now, Alex. No one knows what I gave up to be a part of this! I gave...” 

_I gave up the man I love._

“I had to keep you in the dark,” Alex told her. “Whenever my brother's involved, things can go bad very quickly. You know how he is, making threats, killing people who get in his way.  _So_ gauche. How sad that Sherry's turned out just like him.”

_ What Sherry's capable of... _

Ada drew in a sharp breath.

_ She tried to kill Jessica, just like she tried to kill  _ me _.  _ _Why the hell am I_ _ protecting her? _

“They were sleeping together,” Ada blurted out. “She was his mistress. She told me.”

“I see.” Alex let the words hang, inviting Ada to say more, but she was done talking. She gave Alex the hospital's contact info and hung up. Ada slid off the cell phone's back panel, pocketed the SIM card inside and dropped the rest of the phone in the nearest trash bin. Then, as she had done so many times before, she walked away.

 

Alex heard the line go dead and immediately dialed another number.

“Derek, it looks like we're going with Plan B after all,” she told the man who answered. “There will be other opportunities to get a sample, I promise.” 

She let him rant in her ear while she walked from the patio back indoors. Derek was usually a placid man, eerily so at times, but Alex knew he hadn't approved of her scheme. 

“My brother won't harm Sherry. I just got some new information that makes me quite confident of that,” Alex assured him after Derek spent his outrage. “And my other operatives will protect Ms. Gionne from her.”

Derek launched into another round of angry questions. Alex listened as she went to the kitchen and put the tea kettle on.

“The _point_? Derek, we've gone over this. Sherry was getting hard to control. I had to lay my cards on the table so she could finally see the big picture. True, I didn't expect her to go off the rails quite so...spectacularly. My mistake.” She was glad Derek wasn't there to see her smile.

“That's the thing: She's not the same girl she was a year ago. Not at all. Now we have a sleeper agent in Tricell. I'm sure she'll do whatever it takes to steer my brother off his current path. And just you wait, she'll join us again before long. Until then, let's see what kind of damage she can do.”

Alex filled him in on the botched mission—more of a pitched battle, really—while she waited for the water to boil. Derek finally regained his usual composure. He asked another question just as the kettle began to whistle. 

“Oh, Ada? I'm afraid she's gone her own way, maybe for good this time,” Alex replied as she poured the water into a waiting mug. She moved her cell phone to her other hand and watched the teabag turn the steaming liquid to a rich reddish brown. “What do you want to do about her? I'm open to suggestions.”

 

Sherry paced the length of the suite's living room for what felt like the hundredth time, then paced it again. She still clutched the room's key card in her blood-stained hand. Jessica's blood. 

Earlier that day, Jessica got the key card by bribing a clerk at the hotel's reception desk. Sherry saw her put it in her purse, making for one less thing to question Jessica about later. 

But how Jessica had sung with that knife twisted in her guts. Stealing the sample wasn't even the point of the mission, Jessica confessed. They were here to see what Sherry would do when given a choice between old loyalties and new. 

Now Sherry was sure that everything the madwoman had given her was poison. Knowledge, kindness, the animals, her lavish lifestyle, even dangling Jake in front of her—it was all meant to mold her to Alex's will. Sherry could admit that she'd badly needed a purpose when she was still weak from tearing out her own heart. But that was then. 

She'd failed the test and probably killed Jessica to boot. Jessica had blacked out before Sherry fled the office, but she'd left the knife lodged in her stomach to staunch the blood loss. Sherry reminded herself that she didn't really care about Jessica's fate. She was just a two-faced spy. The Red Princess, on the other hand, could write the song that would end the world. 

_And that gives me the right to kill?_

Sherry made herself stand still in the middle of the room, set down the key card and took a deep breath, but could not quiet her racing mind. What if Wesker didn't come back tonight? What if different people showed up? What if he _did_ come back...with Excella in tow?

_Or what if he murders me the moment he lays eyes on me? Alex said..._

She had to stop thinking about all the things Alex said. There was a metal briefcase in the bedroom. She'd found it when she first entered the hotel suite. It was locked, but Sherry knew her ticket to freedom was inside. Surely someone else in the wide world would find Uroboros valuable. She could exchange it for money or protection. 

Sherry gritted her teeth. No, she had to stay and tell Wesker the truth. That was why she was here waiting for him. Wasn't it?

Her father's words came rushing back to her.  _Would they seek each other out? Would they bond and work together? Would they just tear each other limb from limb?_

Thoughts and feelings she thought were long dead suddenly consumed her. The force inside of her spoke again, but this time its voice was pain. Sherry gasped and pressed her hands to her chest.

_Territoriality...aggressive behavior...Take back what's mine._

No, she'd set that all aside. She'd moved past it. All she wanted to do was kill Excella and warn Wesker, nothing more. Besides...

_The results would be the very definition of unpredictable._

The hotel room's lock beeped. She spun around just at the door swung open and she saw a stooped shadow amble in. The shadow saw her, too. Wesker saw her. She wanted to die. 

The door slammed behind him. He took one rigid step forward and flipped a light switch on the wall. The lamp beside Sherry turned on. Like a frightened animal, she tried to jump out of the circle of yellow light it cast, but it made no difference.

His mouth hung open now but he said nothing. Sherry watched him take off his sunglasses and knew she was lost.

_Say something! Anything!_

Sherry dropped her arms to her sides. She tried to speak but the beginnings of a sob escaped her throat instead. A year, a whole year...

She was shaking like a leaf as she walked towards him across the ugly hotel carpet, her palms facing out to tell him that he could do with her as he pleased. 

That look on his haggard face. Sherry had seen it once before, on another night in another lifetime. Such sadness.

“You're...” Wesker began hoarsely.

_I'm here. I'm back. I'm yours. I never wasn't._

He strode forward, seizing Sherry by the shoulders. Every old wound within her opened and bled anew as his mouth clamped down hard over hers. Jake's face flashed in her mind, smoother and leaner than his father's, and smiling. She willed the image away.

Wesker shoved her onto a side table and her back found the wall. His hands were up her dress, in her hair, yanking their sweaty clothes open and off. There was a surge of pain between her legs and then they were entwined. 

As he began to thrust and twist inside her, Sherry raised her head and ran her tongue up the length of his throat, tasting the salt and musk and the other thing that made him what he was. 

“Harder,” Sherry gasped, and he did not disappoint. 

Then she was clawing at the wall behind her and screaming his name, not caring who heard, not caring who knew.

They were home.


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

 

_I took a taxi from LA to Venus in 1985  
I was electromagnetically sucked back  
Into a party going on that night _

_It was the glory of the 80's  
With karma drawn up in lines  
And two Bugle Boys models saying  
Baby, it's a freebee  
_ _You sure look deprived_

 

_\--“Glory of the 80's,” Tori Amos_

 

_October 5, 2007_

_Prague_

 

“You were called Prophet back then,” Alex said to the woman sitting across from her.

“And you were Miri. I remember your face.”

Alex inclined her head, surprised by Sybil Muller's sharp memory. Miri was her adoptive mother's name. Alex used it as an alias for many years. She wondered what else Sybil recalled.

The Friday dinner rush hadn't started yet and the restaurant was nearly empty, so Alex felt comfortable speaking freely.

“Those were the days, weren't they?” Alex said with a sigh. “Umbrella was just tossing money in the air.”

_And tossing it at me._

Alex remembered Spencer as a handsome, exacting bachelor who preferred to stay single instead of risk ending up with an inferior woman. But she was good enough for him. He'd lie in bed with his arms folded behind his head, telling her all about his plans while she got dressed.

_You are the future_ , Spencer would say in those unguarded moments.  _You will make my dreams come true._

Then she'd smile at him, playing the obedient golem, but Alex had plans of her own. The under-the-table research funds he gave her became her fortune. Instead of using the money as Spencer intended, she quietly invested it and watched it grow like a garden of weeds.

“It was a crazy time—the men, the drugs,” Sybil agreed. “But you want to know why I left.”

Alex studied the other woman's face before answering. She's been right about Jakob getting his looks from his mother. Sybil's narrow face was framed by wavy copper-red hair streaked through with silver. Her son had her grin and fair skin, too. Sybil was dressed simply but stylishly in a fitted leather jacket and a pencil skirt. The arch in her brow and slight accent in her deep voice reminded Alex of a Bond Girl, albeit an aging one.

“Yes I do. That's why I'm here,” Alex told her.

Sybil looked down at her half-eaten meal. “It never bothered me, you know—all the things I did for Umbrella,” she said, her voice suddenly soft. “I was good at it, and if it hadn't been me, well, they would have found someone else.” She looked at Alex now, anger flashing in her green eyes. “But what kind of man tells a woman to kill their child because he's worried about his career? Who was he to order me around?”

 _A child born of insolence, not love,_ Alex realized.  _How fitting._

“Go on,” she said with a nod.

“He made an appointment for an abortion. I told him I did it and ended things between us. ” Sybil shrugged. “I made up a cover story about transferring to Umbrella's Paris facility, then I quit the U.S.S. and went home to Edonia. My son thinks his father left us, not the other way around.”

“Why didn't you tell Jakob the truth?”

“It was better for him to hate a shadow than try to find the man behind it,” Sybil said flatly, then she picked up her fork and went back to her dinner.

Alex leaned back in her chair and tugged at her chin with her long fingers. She couldn't disagree with Sybil's logic, especially considering what Wesker had become. She was covering her own mutated eyes with sunglasses today—eyes that had once been the same color as Jakob's. But his mother could not protect him forever. Alex could see it so clearly: the blood-stained princess with her brave chevalier by her side, himself a living inoculation.

 _The disease and the cure_ , she mused. He and Sherry were the key to everything. The world needed them, though no one knew it yet, and she would be the power behind them.

Alex decided to get to the heart of the matter. “I hear your son is quite good at what he does,” she told Sybil. “If he leaves his current employer and works for me exclusively, I can make his life very, very comfortable. Your life, too.”

Sybil looked up at her but did not reply.

“It hasn't been easy for you, has it?” Alex ventured gently.

“My son makes his own decisions,” Sybil scoffed, and Alex knew she'd overplayed her hand. This was a proud woman, prouder than she had any right to be, and she wanted no one's pity.

“At least let me pay for dinner,” Alex offered, turning on the charm she usually reserved for men.

Sybil put her wadded napkin on her plate. “Albert taught me many things when we were together,” she said as if she hadn't heard Alex. “I never liked to read before I met him. But now, when I think of him, I remember a line from Byron. 'There was a man, if that he was a man...'” Sybil crossed her legs and smiled at Alex. “'Not that his manhood could be called in question.'”

 

_October 5, 2007_

_Zurich_

 

She dreamed. And when she dreamed, she was in New York City, in a large kitchen with shiny fixtures and a granite-topped island. A young man she knew sat on one side. He talked about his mother. He talked about war.

Sherry opened her eyes and saw gauzy white curtains hung over tall windows. She got out of the platform bed and rubbed her face and eyes. A trip to the bathroom and a successful hunt for her old kimono robe later, and she began to explore the new apartment. She'd slept the better part of Thursday and had hardly ventured beyond the bedroom even when awake, but still felt tired.

They'd left Izmir the same night as the ill-fated mission. Sherry's head rested on a strong shoulder for the entire flight back to Zurich. Wesker asked no questions until she'd showered off the smell of sea air and Jessica's blood and was lying under clean sheets in the new, unfamiliar bed.

“Tell me everything from the beginning,” Wesker had said as he hovered by the bedroom windows. He'd regained command of himself and his words sounded cold.

“It was Excella,” Sherry told him as she drew her knees up to her chest. “She tricked me and I thought I was in danger, so I ran away.”

“And why would she do a thing like that to you?” he asked, his voice dripping with malice.

“Don't tell me you actually trust her!” Sherry shot back angrily. “Listen, she was working with your—”

“And _you_ went behind my back. You met with him—with Redfield. Don't try to deny it. You could have led him straight to me.” Wesker drew in an audible breath. “ _And_ to all my work.”

Sherry scooted over to the edge of the bed, holding the sheet to her chest with one hand.

“Listen,” she entreated him. “I was trying to expose Excella, not you.”

“Why? You know how important Uroboros is. You _know_ that, Sherry.” Wesker hovered over her, as menacing as he's ever been, and glared down. “Why?” he demanded again, louder this time. Sherry just wrinkled her nose at his posturing.

_Why? So we could go back to London and put away those stupid portraits and be left alone._

But did she still want that?

“She's going to destroy Tricell,” Sherry said. “Thousands of people will lose their jobs.”

“Is that any of your concern?” he snapped.

“This is what you wanted me to do, Al!” Sherry shouted at him, anger and exhaustion getting the better of her. “You wanted me to play the game, so I did. I picked a side. Sorry it wasn't Excella's.”

 _I thought I picked_ our _side._

Wesker was silent for a minute and they stared each other across the shadowy space.

“You didn't feel the need to inform me about this while it was happening?” he said, his voice calmer but no less insistent.

“I know, it was stupid of me. I shouldn't have done it.” Sherry sighed and dropped her hand into her lap. The bed sheet slipped down. She didn't care. “But I'm back now. I came back because I wanted to.” Sherry looked straight into his pulsing eyes. “And I need you to trust me.”

His gaze lingered on her exposed chest for a moment, and Sherry thought she saw his face redden.

“We will discuss that later,” Wesker said tersely. “I have to work to do. Your things are in the room at the end of the hall.”

Sherry blinked at him. “You mean my clothes?”

“Yes, everything that was yours. There's a few boxes.”

“You didn't get rid of my stuff?” She'd half expected him to.

“No.” Wesker pulled something out of his pants pocket. “Here.” He handed over her locket. The broken chain was gone. Sherry turned the piece of yellow metal over in her hands, shocked but relieved to see it again. Was he holding onto it the whole time?

Wesker was walking across the room now, heading for the door. “I'm sure you're tired. I'll leave you to rest,” he said.

“Your sister,” she called after him. “You need to hear about your sister.”

 

Sherry told him about Alex and his real parents. She told him about her life in New York, and what she knew of the Organization's plans. It was well past dawn on Thursday when she began to tell him the truth about what she was, and what she'd found in her father's lab notes.

“I'm not normal. I know it for sure now...and I think I'm okay with it.” Sherry smiled a bit when she said that. Surely this news would make him happy.

“I'll have to confirm that independently,” Wesker said with a frown. “You'll excuse me if I don't take this Alex woman's word for it. She was clearly manipulating you.”

That stung, and Sherry rocked back on the bed, away from where Wesker was sitting next to her.

_Did he believe anything I said tonight?_

She'd been ready to talk about the infected animals and how she could control them, but now she didn't want to divulge anything else. She had already decided not to tell Wesker about his son—not today anyway. Whenever she pictured Jake's face, which was still far too often, Sherry had only one thought: _Don't let him get sucked in to this mess._

“So it doesn't matter that Excella was conspiring with your sister?” she asked. “You don't care that Alex has been spying on you for years?”

“I will deal with it.” Wesker stood up and walked to the bedroom's closet, beginning the morning routine she was all too familiar with. “It sounds like Excella did not know her benefactor's true identity. Besides, the money's already been spent. Excella will pay for her...” He paused as he slid the closet door open. “Her lapse in judgement, but not now. I still require her assistance for the foreseeable future.”

“Lapse in judgement? _Lapse in judgment_?! She sold me out!” Sherry spluttered at his back. “She's the reason I left! Doesn't that—”

“You sold yourself out!” Wesker bellowed, wheeling around to face her. “Good God, you even _sound_ different now.”

“Well, what do you want?” Sherry shrugged at him. “I'm American.”

Wesker broke their staring contest with an annoyed grunt and turned back to the closet. “You were not suppose to go anywhere I could not find you.” His voice was quieter again. “I promised you that.”

“You promised yourself that,” Sherry said. “Don't you care about anything I just told you? Your parents—”

Wesker spoke over here. “I will be traveling to Frankfurt next week.” He pulled a suit jacket off a hanger, put it on over his black turtleneck and Sherry knew the subject was closed for conversation. “I'll arrange a security detail for you while I'm gone.”

_He's putting me in a box. He's going to lock me away._

Sherry's face flushed but she held down her outrage. She should've expected this. Of course he wasn't about to leave her alone; he didn't trust her. Whatever force had overtaken them in that dark hotel room was quiet now. Sherry could not rely on it to soften his resolve. She'd have to find another way to prove herself.

“Why are you going to Frankfurt?” she asked innocently. “I hear they have great doner kebab.”

“More financing for Uroboros. Excella siphoned as much as she dared from Tricell's R&D budget. Now the CFO is sniffing around.”

 _Good_ , Sherry wanted to say, but spoke neither a question or complaint. Of course Uroboros needed more money. It always did. And this was her old life, after all.

“I'll go if she's not going, too,” Sherry offered.

“Didn't I just say you'll be staying here?” Wesker said dryly. “If only you'd listened to me in the first place, none of this...” He trailed off and looked away from her. Sherry thought she heard him grinding his teeth.

“I won't get in your way, I promise,” she told him.

Wesker was buttoning his cufflinks and checking his clothes in a mirror mounted on the wall. “I will inform key people at Tricell that you took an job with an American drug company last year but decided to quit,” he said. “Still, don't expect me to reinstate your security clearance as if nothing happened.”

“I don't care about that.” Sherry hated this feeling of bargaining, of begging. But what other choice did she have? “I just want to be useful.”

“I certainly hope that's true.” He picked up a pair of sunglasses and tucked them into his front pocket, always the last thing he did before leaving for the day. “I'm going to the office to smooth things over with Excella. I left Izmir without informing her. She's probably livid.”

Now she couldn't hold her tongue. “You really do care about her, huh?” Sherry fired off as he walked out of the room.

“Needing and caring are very different things, chatelaine,” Wesker said, turning his head to rake her body with his gaze one more time. “I thought you would know that by now.”

 

Sherry carried the boxes from the spare room at the end of the hall and put them on the bed for unpacking. This apartment was much larger than the last one they lived in in Zurich. The flat was on the top floor of a modern apartment building in the Unterstass quarter, with a view of the Limmat River.

When they arrived on Wednesday night, Wesker admitted Excella had found the apartment for him last fall, but Sherry could overlook that. She was tired of starting over, tired of leaving possessions and people and places behind every time she screwed up.

_It's different this time. It has to be._

She opened the first box and started in. It was mostly clothes, which she put away on the empty side of the closet. Her jewelry box was at the bottom. She set it next to her locket, which she'd put on the bedroom dresser along with her ring last night.

Sherry paused for a moment and had an idea. She picked up the gold chain her ring was strung on, unclasped it and threaded the locket on, too. She held the new pendant against her chest in the mirror and liked the way the ring's diamond wreath shone against the locket's burnished gold finish. Then something else occurred to her.

Sherry opened the locket and worked at the mounted photo inside with her fingernails until it suddenly sprang up, revealing a small compartment. There was a tiny electronic device inside. She pried the tracker out and tossed it in the bathroom garbage. The locket had been a gift from her father, and no one could tell her what to do with a gift.

She went back to the bedroom and opened the next box, digging through her old life, sorting it on the bed according to what was appropriate for Zurich's autumn weather and what was better packed away. Near the bottom of the box, Sherry's hand hit a smooth piece of leather. She pulled out Krauser's combat knife, still snug in its worn leather sheath. She sighed and sat down on the side of the bed to examine it. In truth, she'd hardly known Krauser, but Sherry was certain she'd never have a better teacher.

The blade looked dull when she drew it out. She wondered if her knife sharpening kit was in one of the boxes, too.

“Albert! I know you're here!”

A door slammed somewhere in the apartment. Startled, Sherry sprang to her feet, though she knew the voice. She knew it well.

Sherry tightened her robe and walked barefoot into the hall. When she reached the apartment's large living room, Excella was already striding in her direction.

 _She knows the layout_ , Sherry realized.

Excella stopped in her tracks and let out a short shriek when she saw her. She dropped her purse and her hand went to her chest. Excella stared at Sherry for a long moment, slack jawed and fighting to take in a full breath.

“You have a key,” Sherry said finally. She wished she'd brought Krauser's knife with her. Dull or not, it would've done the job.

_No, too messy._

“Yes, I...I do,” Excella stammered. Then she pressed her lips together and Sherry could practically see the gears in her mind whirring.

This called for strangulation, slow and personal. Or death by blunt force trauma. She'd spin it as self-defense, somehow. Maybe she could goad Excella into an actual fight, get some defensive wounds on her arms...

“You just missed him,” Sherry told her flatly. “He was heading to the office to find you.”

“And what's _your_ story?” she sneered.

Sherry crossed her arms. “I was studying abroad for a year.”

Excella laughed, a cruel sound Sherry had not missed. She decided to say her peace first. After all, the condemned always deserved to know what they were dying for.

“You tricked me,” Sherry went on before Excella could speak again. “You drove me away from my father. You're still trying to keep us apart.”

Excella picked up her purse. “No my dear, you went off on your own,” she said, righting herself. “You're a grown woman. I didn't _make_ you do anything.”

“That's not...” Sherry began, her voice suddenly unsteady. “That's not true.”

Excella was striding towards her now, making the living room into her catwalk, her stage. Next to her, Sherry may was well have been naked.

_I can kill you. I'll take you down like that bitch Jessica._

But Jessica was just a foot soldier. No one cared what happened to her. But laying Excella out in the middle of the floor would have consequences, no matter how Sherry did it, no matter how much she wanted it. Perhaps that was what Wesker had been trying to tell her all along.

“I simply do not understand you, child,” Excella said when she was within arm's reach. “What kind of daughter doesn't want her father to succeed?”

Sherry started, dropping her arms to her sides. _Al still thinks he needs her._ _He'll never forgive me. Not this time..._

“There were times in my life where my father was so busy, I didn't see him for weeks,” Excella went on with a grin. “But look at what he left me in the end.”

“You mean what you took from him.”

Excella's eyes darkened with anger and she took a step back. “This is who we are. This is what we do. If you don't like it, leave—and don't come back this time,” she snapped. “Go to some boring town, find a boring boy and get married. Have lots of babies. Be normal, if it means so much to you. Only leave you poor father alone.”

Sherry felt heat rising in her chest. _You'll never have him._

Maybe she couldn't have her revenge here and now. Maybe she looked tiny and pathetic, standing barefoot in just a thin bathrobe. But she still had weapons.

“You have no clue who Alex really is, do you?” Sherry said. “Oh, is that the name she gave you? Or was it something else? She's slippery that way.” She allowed herself a smirk as Excella's face fell. “You sold her a lemon. I'd watch my back if I were you.”

Excella's upper lip twisted. “And to think, I once wanted to be your friend,” she sneered. “But if you're going to stay, I suppose we'll have to get along...” Excella sighed, then her mouth morphed into a cheerful smile that did not reach her eyes. “For your father's sake.”

 

_Frankfurt am Main_

_October 15, 2007_

 

She watched Wesker from her seat in the investment firm's large meeting room. Sherry had forgotten how much she loved the way he moved, even if he was just pushing a glass of water a few inches to his left. The man certainly knew how to work a room, even one full of supposedly savvy investment bankers.

As far as any of them knew, Wesker was just a run-of-the-mill pharmaceutical executive, here to pitch an equally run-of-the-mill drug development venture—albeit one that was sure to reap massive returns.

Sherry felt a prickle of satisfaction while she listened to him speak. Before long, the table was ringed with nodding heads. It reminded her of the year she'd spent as Wesker's assistant, before he found Spencer and everything went wrong.

_My rock._

Maybe things could still go back to the way they'd been. Maybe he would even listen to her this time. There was reason to hope. For one, here she was, sitting in Frankfurt with no Excella in sight. Wesker had relented at the last minute, giving a practical reason, as usual.

“If you really want to be useful, you may as well serve as my assistant on the trip,” he'd said. Perhaps it was a sign of his mistrust, his suspicions. She wondered if Wesker thought she would run again. Sherry rolled the old saying “keep your friends close and your enemies closer” around in her mind and felt queasy.

 _But I'm not the enemy. He wants me to be here. He wants_ me _._

They were still the same people. They had the same bodies, the same needs as before. Didn't they?

True, there was still a wall between them, as unbending as it had ever been during their worst fights. Save for the evening in Izmir when she went back to him, her nights had been spent sleeping and nothing more. She did not want to say the spark was gone. Surely they just needed some time. So for now, Sherry stayed on her side of the new bed and he stayed on his—when he came to bed at all.

And Sherry knew she wasn't exactly helping take that wall down. There was something, or rather, someone, gnawing at her. She kept telling herself not to feel guilty about Jake. Hardly anything had happened between them; just a strange night that was best forgotten. Besides, it was Alex's fault they'd even met. So why did she feel so terrible? Maybe she simply needed to tell Wesker about his son, leave out the rest, and call her conscience clear. Sherry added it to her mental to-do list...at the very bottom.

There was still the matter of regaining her mate's trust and finding a new role at Tricell. Then she needed to go to a doctor and get a new prescription for birth control pills. She needed to find a gym in their neighborhood, too. And while Wesker didn't want her to have contact with other Tricell employees yet, Sherry needed to find Bianca and Ashwin as soon as she could. She still didn't know who'd betrayed her to Excella...

“Gentlemen, this has been a most productive morning,” one of the banker said in a thick German accent. The meeting broke for lunch and she and Wesker soon found themselves in the office building's lobby.

“This will probably take the rest of the day,” he told Sherry, rubbing his closed eyes with his fingers.

“You're tired. I'll grab you some food.”

“Not necessary.” Wesker's eyes snapped open. They were bloodshot behind his dark contacts and she knew the lenses were bothering him. “Take a stroll. I'll see you back here at 1:30.”

Sherry was surprised. “Really? You sure?”

“Of course. This is a difficult city to get lost in. You have your cell, correct?”

Sherry pulled the new smartphone he'd given her from her purse. It was an iPhone, the gadget _du jour_ , and Wesker had already replaced his BlackBerry phones with a handful of them.

“Yup, right here,” Sherry said, trying to mask the excitement in her voice. An hour and a half to herself! She shouldn't be so happy about it, yet she was.

As she walked out of the building's revolving doors, it occurred to her that Wesker may want some time alone, too.

 

She was wearing her old ivory sweater dress today, paired with a long black coat and high-heeled boots. Sherry slipped on pair of sunglasses to complete the effect and stepped onto Frankfurt's main thoroughfare, the Kaiserstrasse. The city was Europe's financial capital and she was surrounded by glass skyscrapers emblazoned with the names of major banks.

Sherry paused by the wide, grassy plaza in front of the European Central Bank's headquarters and looked at the imposing tower for a moment before heading further down the Kaiserstrasse. This city was so clean, so orderly. It was as if nothing bad ever happened here.

This was where she belonged—not _here_ literally, but by Wesker's side, going wherever he went, and, with any luck, making him reconsider the path he was on.

_War._

She had a sinking feeling Alex wasn't lying about that part. Something was still coming, and they had to be ready. That couldn't happen as long as Wesker was still embroiled in the mess with Tricell.

Sherry walked a few more blocks and the street opened into a pedestrian zone. There was a square with restored medieval buildings, and beyond that, a broad plaza lined by modern shops and malls that were teeming with a lunchtime crowd despite the cold day. Sherry walked by a group of about half a dozen young men horsing around by a statue, taking pictures of their antics. She hurried past them with a look of studied distain, but noticed a few of the men were wearing military fatigue jackets. Sherry headed for a nearby mall's entrance, hoping they had a food court.

“No friggin' way,” a voice behind her said. “Anne?”

She spun around at the sound. The same peacoat. The same close-cropped red hair. The same deep blue eyes that rooted her to the ground.

“What're you...?” Sherry started to take off her sunglasses, then pushed them back in place. She didn't want him to see the surprise on her face, or the terror. “Oh, hi,” she said. “It was...Jake, right?”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Oh come _on._ I think you remember.” He closed the space between them until he was near enough for Sherry to touch. “This is crazy,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“Just passing through for work.” Sherry cast her eyes to either side. Dozens of people were walking past them. Surely someone would notice that something very, very wrong was going on. The plaza suddenly felt huge. They were exposed. _She_ was exposed.

Sherry readjusted her purse's shoulder strap and plastered on a nervous smile, hoping he would take the hint, but Jake didn't budge.

“No kidding! Same here,” he said. “By the way, we never heard from your aunt again.”

“I'm not surprised,” Sherry grumbled, getting more nervous. She had to end this. They couldn't been seen together.

“What's _that_ supposed to mean?” His mouth curved into the lopsided smirk she remembered all too well. “Well, whatever. We're crashing here tonight. Should be a good time. You should stop by. Hold on a sec.”

Before Sherry could say anything, he called to a dark-haired man still standing by the statue. They conversed a few feet away, and Sherry realized they weren't speaking English. She'd spent enough time around Excella to know Italian when she head it. A few of his friends glanced in her direction, then at Jake. The steely autumn sky was about to fall and crush her, she was sure of it.

 _This can't be happening,_ Sherry told herself.

Someone produced a pen and Jake walked back over and handed her a torn slip of paper.

“Swing by, like, 10-ish?” Jake said, then turned back to his friends. They began to walk away. Sherry stood glued to the cobblestones, the paper clutched in her fist as she stared at the spot where Jake had just stood. She hadn't even given him an answer.

Sherry realized she'd been holding her breath and sucked in a draught of chilly air, feeling embarrassed. This was all so ridiculous. Of _course_ she wasn't going. She couldn't.

A hand descended on her shoulder and Sherry sighed when she turned and saw was who it was.

“Hi, Carlos.”

 

They walked down a side street and sat down in the back of a crowded café.

“She can't have him,” Sherry said, cupping her hands around a mug of tea she had no intention of drinking. “Jake's not hers to take, any more than I belong to her.”

“I'm only here to watch him, chica, make sure he stays on the radar,” Carlos told her, keeping his voice low. “But she told me to give you this.” He handed her a sealed envelope.

Sherry tore it open. There was a stiff notecard inside, the kind people used for wedding invitations. She recognized Alex's elegant handwriting.

The note read: _If you so much as touch E.G., your prince dies._

Maybe it was a bluff meant to keep her in line. Or perhaps Alex had weighed the two lives in her mind and decided Excella was more valuable than her brother's bastard. Sherry wasn't sure she wanted to find out. She flipped the card over and set it next to her teacup. “Do you know what this says?”

“No, Alex said it was for your eyes only. And she wants an answer.”

“You just follow orders, don't you?” Sherry pressed, leaning over the small table that sat between them. “You don't care what you do or who you hurt or anything, as long as you get paid.”

Carlos shrugged but avoided her gaze. “I don't want to kill anybody. But the problem is, I'm good at it.” Now he smiled at her. “There's things _you're_ good at that no sweet girl should even know about.”

He was trying to distract her, get her flustered like he used to do, but Sherry wasn't in the mood.

“Do you know who Jake is? Or did Alex just say 'follow him' and you did it?”

“I'm a solider,” Carlos said, as if that explained it all.

“What do you really want?” she asked him.

“I told you before, I'm in this to help some damsels in distress. Sure, it was about money at first.” Carlos crossed his arms and his face hardened. “Too bad for you if you don't believe me.”

Sherry looked down at the card. “What if Alex asked you to kill him...the man you're following now?” She refused to make the threat on the notecard real by invoking Jake's name.

Carlos looked at her vacantly and shrugged again, bending in to pick up his coffee cup.

This was all she needed to know. Sherry rested her arms on the table and leaned as close as she could—close enough that anyone watching probably thought they were about to kiss—but instead brought her mouth level with Carlos' ear.

“If that happens,” she whispered. “I will kill Excella.”

Carlos drew back slowly and she saw the horror on his face—exactly what she'd hoped for. “Why?” he hissed.

Sherry bowed her head like she used to do in chapel back in her Catholic schoolgirl days. In her mind's eye, she lifted her hands from Excella's throat. Something cold and angry untwisted inside her, something she'd kept in the pit of her stomach for a long time.

_Revenge._

She let it dissolve. She let it go. It was the only way.

“The _why_ isn't important,” she said to the table's battered surface. “Just know that I _would..._ but it doesn't have to be that way.” Sherry lifted her chin and looked Carlos in the eye. “If Alex tells you to kill him, warn him instead. Let him go and say he escaped. Then I promise you, if anything ever happens to Excella, it won't be by my hand. But if you tell Alex about this...” Sherry knew she didn't need to say more.

Carlos shook his head. He looked stunned. “You're a real piece of work.”

Sherry shrugged him off. “Got a pen? Oh wait, I have one in my bag.” She scrawled the word _FINE_ in block letters on the back of the card, stuffed it into the torn envelope and held it out to Carlos. “Do we have an understanding?”

“I think so, chica,” Carlos said slowly as he took the envelope. “I think so.”

 

When the afternoon's meetings wrapped up, Sherry made up a story about wanting to go back to some stores she'd seen at lunch time.

“Fine, fine,” Wesker said, eyes glued to his cell phone. “I have some things to attend to anyway.”

_Why doesn't he want me around?_

He looked very tired. Sherry almost didn't want to leave him. Instead, she gave Wesker the notes she'd taken during the meetings and headed off again. She went to Frankfurt's central train station and bought a guide book and map of the city, pouring over both for a few hours while she sat in a cheap restaurant. Sherry kept glancing at her phone, waiting for a text message summoning her back to the hotel, but the screen stayed dark.

She wasn't _actually_ going to the party, she told herself. She was going to warn Jake, nothing more.

 

“Who ordered this one!?” the man who answered the door hollered into the party's din.

“Uhhh, I'm looking for...” Sherry began just as Jake appeared in the doorway, a red plastic cup that was the universal symbol of “bad idea” clutched in one hand.

“Good, you're here!” he said. “I lost the last round of Texas hold 'em and they're gonna duct tape me between two mattresses and toss me out the third story window.”

Sherry blinked at him. “Wait, what?”

“Just...c'mon!” Jake grabbed her arm and yanked her inside. “Let's get you a drink. You gotta play catch-up with everybody.”

“Can throwing you off the roof wait?” she shouted over blaring music as they waded through the crowded house. The made it to the kitchen and someone handed her a red cup of her own, filled with vodka and probably not enough orange juice. “I need to talk to you!” Sherry tried again.

Jake turned and looked at her blankly.

_Crap, he's already drunk._

“Who's house is this?” she asked, moving closer so he could hear her.

“My boy Tony hooked us up.” Jake pointed at the dark-haired man she remembered from the plaza. “I guess he knows whoever lives here, but they're not home.”

This explanation made Sherry even more worried. What if they'd actually broken in? What if some annoyed neighbor decided to call the police?

They were in Frankfurt's Nordend which, according to her guidebook, was an almost-trendy neighborhood full of students, artists and blue-collar workers. But this house was fairly large and someone cared enough about it to have decent furniture and real paintings on the walls.

Sherry jumped when she heard a loud crash in another room, followed by a chorus of cheers. Jake didn't seem to notice. He was talking to another man who'd just walked into the kitchen. The man had something in his hand that Sherry couldn't quite see.

“Nah dude, I don't touch that shit anymore,” Jake told him. “Last time I got high, the TV turned into a giant squid and tried to kill me. I won.” He chuckled, put a hand on Sherry's shoulder and guided her out of the room.

 

“Drops of fuckin' Jupiter?” Jake balked. “No, no, no. 'Meet Virginia' is Train's best song and you know it.” He waved his hand and moved on. “Okay, name Metallica's best song. I'm all about 'Enter Sandman'.”

Sherry scrunched her lips to one side. “I never really got into metal,” she confessed.

“Never? What is _wrong_ with you?”

“You want an itemized list?” Sherry quipped over the rim of her cup.

She was glad when he laughed, but didn't join in. This felt so easy, so natural, like they picked up a conversation that had never really ended. Sherry realized they could probably sit on this little balcony all night nursing their screwdriver cocktails, talking about 90's music and the weather and anything and everything else. The party felt worlds away, with only the occasional shout or peal of laughter penetrating the sliding glass door beside them.

_What am I doing? Why can't I just warn him about Alex and leave?_

Her phone was still quiet and she considered sending Wesker a text until Jake abruptly leaned in, letting out a long breath that turned to white fog in front of his face.

“Anyway...” he sighed, fixing his eyes on her. Suddenly, Sherry wanted to say anything but what she'd come here to say.

“So, you know Italian?” she asked.

“What, like it's hard?” he grunted, sounding almost defensive. “Yeah, we're in Naples a lot,” Jake said, then Sherry saw him catch himself. He'd been on the verge of saying too much. “Man, can you believe it's already October?” he began after a beat. “Where the hell did the year go?”

“You're telling me,” she replied with a smile. “I need to start making plans...” No, she didn't want to think about _those_ plans. Not tonight. “It would be nice to finally get to the Glastonbury Music Festival next summer.”

“What's that? Some hippie crap? I'll go if I can beat up hippies,” Jake said, and she could not help but smile. Here they were, talking about summer under a cloudy October sky that was threatening to snow. Sherry suddenly felt warm and her drink wasn't to blame.

She closed her eyes as a memory bubbled up within her. “The best summer I ever had...I think it was '04. I spent the whole summer in the Pyrenees Mountains with my uncle. We hiked all over, did a lot of target practice. That was just a few months before he died.”

“What'd he die of?” Jake's voice sounded different—quiet and almost gentle.

She looked up and found herself gazing into a night sky contained within two eyes. “Stupidity,” she deadpanned.

Jake stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. “Excuse me for sayin' so, but your family is friggin' weird.”

Sherry let herself laugh this time because it was his family, too.

Jake shifted in his plastic chair and she noticed a red and orange patch on his jacket's left shoulder. It was different from the peacoat he'd been wearing earlier and looked more militaristic, more tactical. She remembered some of the other mercenaries downstairs wore the same coat.

“What's this?” she wondered, pointing at it.

He looked down at the patch, which depicted a stylized spider on a red field. An orange ribbon emblazoned with black words fluttered across its body. “Oh, everybody in our unit wears this. It's our logo, I guess.”

“'La Vita Nuova',” Sherry read on the ribbon. “What does it mean?”

Jake shrugged. “Something about new life or new beginnings. Our boss is kind of a drama queen. But we're taken care of. Booze, women, whatever we want.” He was bragging, forgetting himself again. Then he saw the look on Sherry's face and his eyes went wide. “Wait! I mean, it's not like I...uhh...can I start over?”

Sherry set down her drink and crossed her legs. “Those women downstairs are hookers, aren't they? Your friend thought _I_ was a hooker,” she hectored him, realizing too late that her voice had gone shrill.

Jake's eyes narrowed. “Yeah, so what? Some of the guys here won't come back from the place we're going tomorrow. You're gonna begrudge them some fun?”

He was right. Sherry had no idea what it meant to live in his world. She'd always been taken care of, in one way or another.

Sherry bit her lip and made herself look at him. “Where are you going?” she asked softly.

He folded his arms. “East. That's all I can say.”

“It is a...you know, an outbreak?”

Jake grinned and shook his head. “Nope, that's not the only thing we take care of. Governments need overthrowing, too.”

“Be careful,” she gasped out, suddenly wanting to touch him.

“Nah, I always live. I'm lucky that way.”

There was something sad in his eyes now, and she felt her resolve return for the first time all evening.

_Do what you came here to do._

“I have to go.” Sherry stood up and started buttoning her coat. “Listen, this is important: If my aunt ever contacts you again, run as fast as you can in the opposite direction. Got that?”

“What do you—hey!”

She moved to open the balcony's sliding door, but Jake caught her other hand as she tried to walk by him. “Come on, I'm sorry I got mad,” he said.

Sherry could not look at him. She sensed Jake's weight shift and he lifted his hand, and her hand along with it. Sherry turned her body towards him—or rather, her body turned without her permission.

“Look, I know it was weird when we met. It was _really_ weird.” This was hard for him, she could tell. Every word sounded strangled, awkward. Still, Jake was trying. “But don't you think...I mean, running into each other like this...?”

Sherry fought to keep herself from bolting away—or, worse yet, throwing herself at his feet.

_I gave something up today, s_ _omething I wanted for years._

Revenge had driven her for so long, along with ambitions pushed on her by people who wanted her to be some profane angel of death. 

_I gave it up to keep you safe._

But what now? She'd lived in the shadows for so long. Was else was there?

Then he showed her. 

Sherry closed her eyes and shuddered when she felt his lips press against her palm. She stood ramrod straight and reminded herself that the Red Princess did not smile. She could not cry or even feel.

But what if she did?

For a moment, Sherry forgot about Wesker. She forgot Jake was his son and that she was her father's daughter. Jake was just a man, she was just a woman and her eyes stung as Sherry realized that, if let herself, she could love him.

Sherry blinked the tears away and looked through the balcony's glass door. On the other side was the missing host's bedroom, and on the bedroom's door was a lock. But when the moment was over and their clothes were back on, what would they do? She looked down at Jake and then she knew.

_Go with him._

She saw a wealth of worlds appear before her, names that belonged in fairytales. Samara and Samarkand, Calcutta and Beijing and Katmandu. _East._ A magical word. The dawn itself.

Sherry wouldn't be dead weight either. She knew how to fight, how to gather intelligence and deceive people. Surely Jake's superiors would find some use for her.

The wind picked up out of nowhere, scouring her body with its sobering chill and her cell phone beeped in her coat pocket.

_More running?_

No, it was better to end this now and leave them both with a memory of something close to normal, close to pure. She was not free, and someone else needed her.

“I have to go,” Sherry told him again.

“You have a boyfriend,” Jake said. It was not a question. He must've heard her phone go off, too.

“There's...somebody,” she murmured.

He let go of her hand and snorted in disgust. “Jesus _fuck_. This always happens to me.”

“It's not—”

“Sure, whatever. Just go.” Without even glancing at her, Jake turned his chair around to face the street. “You gotta do what you gotta do.”

 

As she walked down the street with the sounds of the party throbbing behind her, Sherry wondered if Jake was still on the balcony, watching her go. She dared not turn around to look.

 

When she got back to the hotel suite, the bedroom door was closed. She hoped Wesker was asleep. His last text had been an insistent _where ARE you?_

Sherry grabbed a laptop from their luggage, hunkered down on the couch and searched for “La Vita Nuova” on Google. It was one of Dante's epic poems, not as famous as his _Inferno_ or _Divine Comedy_ , but noteworthy for other reasons. “Sacred love poetry” one description called it. She easily found a translation online. Sherry skimmed the introduction and dove into the poem.

_At that moment I say truly that the vital spirit, that which lives in the most secret chamber of the heart began to tremble so violently that I felt it fiercely in the least pulsation..._

Perplexed, she read on.

_...And, trembling, it uttered these words: Behold a god more powerful than I, who, coming, will rule over me._

Now Sherry was trembling, too. She heard a noise behind her, slammed the laptop closed and turned her head.

“You smell like cheap liquor and cheaper men,” Wesker said as he walked out of the bedroom. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Didn't you get my text? I was out for a walk.”

“Around the whole city?” he snapped.

Sherry sprang to her feet, fists balled at her sides. “Well that's just typical! You don't like it when I sit around and you don't like it when I go out and have fun.” She stomped across the room to face him. “You're the one who told me to buzz off, remember?” she reminded Wesker crossly.

Wesker's eyes were free of their hated lenses and they blazed like a furnace. “I brought you here with me,” he hissed as her. “I respected your wishes. I tried to trust you again, and _this_ is what you do?”

Sherry drew in a sharp breath as the realization hit her.

_It was a test. This whole trip was a test._

“What was I supposed to think? What was I supposed to assume?” he went on, his voice rising with every word.

“You're  _supposed_ to assume I'll be back soon and go to bed!” Sherry protested. “I'm not going to run again. I came back because I heard you calling for me. I came back because—”

“But you  _ left. _ You left and I could not  _ breathe _ !”

“I left you to your goddamn work—” Sherry began, then gasped as his cold hands jumped to her neck. She grabbed his wrists and tried to focus, but Wesker's face was perilously close to hers and deep within her core, against her heart and against will, she felt a horrid desire stir. She froze.

“You left me nothing but ruins,” Wesker said.

 

Sherry understood why he was doing this. She understood why he pushed her to her knees and shoved her face against the mattress. He was punishing her and reclaiming her at the same time. But she also knew he wanted her to struggle and wasn't about to give him that satisfaction. 

“Al, stop,” she said as firmly as she could with a face full of comforter.

“No.” He pushed her dress up around her waist. Sherry felt the edge of the bed bow under his weight.

Sherry turned her face to the side, hoping to catch his eye. “Please, just let me rest a minute and then we can do this, I prom—”

“No!”

She could still stop him, reach out and throw him off of her with a thought. But it would only make him angrier. It would only make it worse.

Sherry dug her fingers into a nearby pillow and told herself it would be over soon.

 

His mother and her cousin whispered news from home in Serbian. They thought he was forgetting the language, but he still understood everything they said. The Edonian civil war was winding down, but terrible revelations were coming out on a near-daily basis. There were mass graves in the forests. It would take years to identify all the bodies. And the things the soldiers did to the women...he'd never heard those words before. Some of their family members were missing, among them, his grandfather Stefan. His mother wept over that late at night when she thought he was asleep.

Once, when her crying woke him, he padded softly into her room with a box of tissues. His mother stopped weeping the moment she saw him, pulled him to her and held him fiercely.

“We're better off here,” she whispered to him in English. “We are safe here. It was the only way, Jakob.”

 _Safe?_ When he was made fun of for being the only redhead in his class? When he got beaten up for the hint of accent he had left?

“Mom, you need to start calling me Jake,” he told her. “It's more American.”

 

Danica, his mother's cousin, was a living library of folktales. They were so scary and strange, nothing like the Disney versions. When Danica spun out a story, Newark's cracked sidewalks and rundown houses faded away and he became a knight questing through a magical forest. He especially like stories about witches and j'avo—the old word for demon—but he made her tell the story of the Bloody Princess over and over again.

“Even now, she may be in her castle, waiting for the day a brave knight comes to chop her wicked head off.”

“Why?” he wondered aloud.

Danica looked at him queerly. He'd never asked that question before. “Because she murdered people. She bathed in their blood. She has to be punished.”

“Knights kill people, too,” he insisted. “Why do monsters have to stay monsters? Why do knights always have to kill them? She's a princess. Why can't the knight marry her instead?”

“You ask too many questions!” Danica sighed, rolling her eyes. “Listen, the knight can't marry her because she's already married. Now go to sleep.”

 

He sat on the floor in the hall, eavesdropping on the conversation going on inside the classroom.

“Your son is one of the smartest students I've ever had,” his teacher said. “Math, science, literature—he soaks it all up. He's already reading at a high school level.”

He heard his mother sigh. “Even if I started saving now, I could never afford to send him to college.”

“But there are so many scholarships available—”

His mother cut her off. “No. College is not for him.”

 

Danica was arguing with his mother. They thought he was asleep. They thought he didn't hear them.

“You don't understand, Danica! If he rises too high, if he attracts too much attention, they'll come for him!” His mother's voice was frantic. “But no one will take him from me, not even his own father.”

His father was alive? Why had no one ever told him? Why did everyone treat him like he was stupid?

“Then what do you expect him to do?” Danica demanded.

“Enter the family trade,” his mother said sternly.

 

They drove deep into the Pine Barrens in his mother's beat-up Toyota. The pulled to the side of a gravel road and his mother set up a line of empty tin cans along an old split-rail fence. She took something out of her coat that he'd only seen on TV. A pistol.

“We are not leaving until you hit every can,” she told him. “Twice.”

 

Sherry rolled over and opened her eyes. It was morning at last, but she'd dreamed someone else's dreams.

She started to sit up but a sudden headache crashed in, sending her moaning to the mattress, and she remembered everything.

_This isn't the way it was supposed to be._

And yet, by the end of it all, hadn't she been goading him on, daring him to hurt her, yelling at him to break her? He'd finally tossed her aside well after midnight, repulsed by her or himself or both, and stalked out of the room.

After a few minutes of staring at the ceiling, Sherry took a deep breath and this time managed to get up. She heard the TV on in the other room and nudged the bedroom door open a few inches. Wesker was at the sitting room's desk, hunched over his laptop and already dressed for the day's meetings.

She glowered at him for a moment, convinced he knew she was standing there, but Wesker didn't turn. She shut the door and flopped back into bed. Sherry couldn't say why or how she knew, but...

_Your son would never treat me this way._


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 20

 

_I'm only hanging on_

_To watch you go down_

_My love_

_  
_

_ \--“S _ _o Cruel,” U2_

_November 13, 2007_

_Zurich_

 

Ashwin set his messenger bag on his desk and took out his cell phone and lunch. He was usually the first one in the office anyway, but he'd come in extra early today to get a jump on year-end reports. One more 12 hour day, he told himself, and then he could focus on other things, like the plane tickets he still had to buy for a trip home and the cute French guy he'd just met who wouldn't stop texting him.

Ashwin turned around to switch on the lights and almost screamed when he saw Sherry— _Sherry_ of all people—standing against the wall. Her hair was chopped short but she was wearing one of the tailored black pantsuits she'd always favored when she was Excella's assistant.

“What're you...how...?” he stammered.

“Are we alone?” Sherry asked in a hoarse whisper.

Ashwin immediately noticed her British accent was gone. Now Sherry sounded positively... _midwestern_. Had it all been an act?

“Sherry, your voice...”

She shrugged. “It's changed. A _lot_ has changed.” Then she winced and put a hand on her abdomen.

Ashwin took a step forward. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, my stomach's just a little off. Things have been weird lately.” Sherry looked tense, haunted. There were dark circles under her eyes and her cheekbones stuck out more than Ashwin remembered.

“When are things _not_ weird for you?” he said tersely, now worried that one of his coworkers would come down the hall at any moment. “Why are you here? People said the craziest things after you left.”

Sherry shook her head and sighed. “I know. None of it was true, I promise.” She moved away from the wall. “I need to ask you some questions.”

“Well, make it fast. I don't even know if I can help.”

_Or should help._

Sherry had always been an enigma to him. Everyone in the executive training program believed she'd been allowed in simply because her father was dating Excella Gionne. Then, much to Ashwin's surprise, she'd turned out to be smart, and more than a little odd. Her innocent schoolgirl routine wore thin fast and Ashwin had begun to wonder just what Sherry was up to.

Then she'd approach him, Sean and Bianca with her conspiracy theory about Excella, which they'd all refused to take part in. Ashwin had to admit he wasn't surprised when Sherry eventually disappeared—or left Tricell under a cloud of suspicion, if the water cooler whispers were to be believed.

“Tell me about Excella,” Sherry went on. “How's she handling being in charge? What do people think of her?”

_Oh God, this again?_

But if it would get Sherry to leave...

Ashwin leaned back against his desk. “Well, believe it or not, people seem pretty happy with her. She doesn't micromanage. She's just letting Tricell, I dunno, be Tricell,” he told Sherry. “There is one funny thing: The board appointed one of her pet VPs to CEO and she's still head of that tiny Africa division. _That's_ a mystery. Nobody can figure out why she doesn't want the CEO job for herself.”

“Because she's still the majority shareholder,” Sherry pointed out. “She controls Tricell without the hassle. It leaves her free to focus on the bioterrorism project.”

“Oh for the love of...” Ashwin resisted the urge to throw up his hands. “Look, we all know you hate Excella. But this bullshit again? Really?”

Sherry folder her arms, looking annoyed. “Well, what do _you_ think is happening in Africa?”

This gave him pause. Ashwin didn't know much about bioterrorism, besides that it was horrible and some people thought there was good money in it. Well, not “good,” per se.

“It makes sense,” Sherry insisted. “She's used my father's knowledge for years to run illegal experiments. It was just animals at first, but I think they've move on to people. And you know there've been inconsistencies in the R&D budget for years. You _know_ that, Ashwin.”

Yes, inconsistencies that were always explained away. Ashwin wasn't about to stick his neck out over an accounting error or, worse yet, petty rumors. And yet...experimenting on people? If even half of what she'd said was true...

“So, you're going to go after her again?” Ashwin asked.

Sherry lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “No, better: I'm going to let her fail.”

“I think...you need to leave,” Ashwin said warily.

“ _I_ think you actually believe me this time.” Sherry cracked a grin that chilled him to the bone. “I'm not asking you to do anything. Just let this play out. I've got it covered. And it's probably better if you don't tell your boss about this.”

“I work for the CFO! I _have_ to tell him!”

“Do you? Do you _have_ to tell him?” There was something strong in her voice now—commanding almost. “Ignorance can be a powerful thing. If you prove Excella acted on her own and no one else knew about her little side project, you just might save Tricell.”

Ashwin slunk down into his desk chair. “I think it's time to update my resume,” he groaned.

Sherry just nodded and gathered up a long black coat that was draped on the back of another chair. “Thank you, Ashwin. I will do what I can on my end.”

“Sherry?” A man's voice called down the hallway. Her head whipped around and Ashwin saw alarm ripple across Sherry's face. She jogged out of the office and darted through the door of the nearby ladies' restroom. Worried, Ashwin craned his neck to see what was going on. Who was she running from?

He saw a tall shadow round the corner. Ashwin knew who it was and quickly bellied up to his desk to look like he was working. Sherry's father had hardly been seen at Tricell's headquarters all year. Now  _he_ was back and  _she_ was back... 

Sherry's father called out her name again, sounding a bit more urgent this time.

Ashwin heard the door to the ladies' room swing open.

“Right here!” Sherry hailed him cheerily as she stepped into the hallway.

Ashwin peeked around the edge of his computer monitor to see what what happening. There were two shadows in the hall, dressed in head-to-toe black save for the blue scarf draped around Sherry's neck. Had ever a father and daughter looked more alike? And even from a distance, he could see Sherry now looked completely different. Her face had morphed from the distracted, scowling visage that had earned her the nickname “Scary Sherry” into something serene. Happy, even.

“Okay, I'm ready to go,” she said.

“Good,” Sherry's father replied.

They walked down the hall together and to his surprise, Ashwin heard Sherry start humming a song.

 

_It wasn't Ashwin._

He'd been shocked to see her, maybe a little flustered, but there was no anger or fear in him. He wasn't the one who ratted her out to Excella. Sherry felt sure of that. That left Bianca...or Sean.

But it felt almost like another betrayal to keep him on the suspect list. Sean had a crush on her. Sean cared for her.

 _And Sean was working for the Consortium the whole damn time_ , Sherry reminded herself. Then he'd shown up in Alex's orbit, knowing a bit too many things for her liking. So on the list he remained.

When she and Wesker stepped outside, a security guard and their driver had just finished loading the boxes of documents he'd come for into the trunk of the car. The temperature hovered around freezing and Sherry pulled her new scarf around her face for the short walk from the lobby doors to the car, but at least there was no wind.

She started humming again as the car pulled away from the curb.

“What song is that?” Wesker asked.

“You don't know?” she said breezily, as if she was just making polite conversation. “It's 'Goodnight, Irene.'”

_Please don't say it was one of your mother's favorites._

Sherry pressed herself against the car door, putting as much space between the two of them as she could. She was waiting for the old Al to come back when she least expected it. Maybe “dreading” was the more accurate word, because then she might fool herself into thinking they could still start over, that she didn't have to stop him.

 

Wesker was still sorting through the files when she came back from their apartment building's fitness center. Sherry was surprised to see him sitting cross-legged on the living room floor with papers and folders fanned out around him like he was a college student scrambling to make up for weeks of procrastination. He'd discarded his suit in favor of a grey T-shirt and a pair of black athletic pants and his hair was mussed as if he'd been running his hands through it in frustration.

Wesker glanced up at her then went back to leafing through the open manila folder in his hand. The resemblance between him and his sister was unmistakable then, and Sherry felt tempted to mention it, but thought better of it. He'd seemed to write Alex off, which worried Sherry because the other woman had shown such obvious interest in her long-lost sibling. Maybe Wesker just needed more time to process the revelation of having a twin sister.

_Good thing I didn't mention his son. He might go catatonic._

She had to admit, Jake had more of his father in him than she'd first realized. His long face, pointed chin and especially his eyes were all Wesker's, though Jake had none of his mannerisms. And how could he? Neither man knew the other was even alive and it occurred to her that not telling Wesker about his son might be the cruelest thing she'd ever done.

_Well, at least now we're even._

“You should grow your hair out again,” Wesker said as she walked past. “I'm not sold on this bobbed look.”

That almost brought her up short. He'd said nothing about her hair since her return.

“Well, I like it,” Sherry replied when she'd reached the other side of the room. She wasn't going to let him draw her into a sparring match. If they started to argue— _really_ argue—one of them might lose control. Then the contagion in their blood would rise up and take them, as it had so many times before, and she did not want that. Plus, she was sweaty and tired from her workout and wasn't up for parsing his mood. 

Sherry stepped into her bathroom and locked the door before she began to undress.  She was still a kept woman—she never hadn't been—but at least she was dictating more of the terms.

 

A new life had begun for them that morning in Frankfurt. After going back to bed, Sherry hid her body under the sheets and stared at the hotel room's genteel cream-colored wallpaper. On the other side of that wall, he was sitting there like nothing had even happened.

In the real world, there was a word for what he'd done to her. There would've been an investigation and maybe even a trial. But she didn't live in that world, and this was just another burden Wesker had put on her, like all his schemes and secrets. She cursed her weakness, her foolishness, her youth. Had she learned nothing after all this time?

_Pathetic. I'm just lying here and..._

The memory of Jack's rough voice came to her out of nowhere.

 _If you ever see a person lying on the ground, don't go rushing over assuming they're injured_ , Jack had said on some long-ago summer day. _The prone position is more powerful than it looks._

Sherry got out of bed, showered and dressed. This time, Wesker turned to look at her when she opened the door. His face was unreadable as she walked over to him, but she thought she saw a flicker of worry in his eyes. It reminded her of the look the dogs gave her when she dragged them one by one onto the plastic tarp.

But Wesker was not an animal and couldn't be easily molded or ordered around. Maybe that was why every time she'd lashed out in the past, she'd merely hurt him or knocked him flat for a few minutes before her concentration broke and she came back to herself. He was too strong to be controlled outright. Besides, he'd probably be expecting her to try it after last night. But Sherry was done fighting force with force.

“I'm not here to get in your way. I made a mistake last year and I came back to fix it,” Sherry told him, resting a hand next to his laptop. She paused and let her eyes drift to the desk. Then, ever so slightly, Sherry _nudged_. “I'm sorry I got back late,” she said. “Can we just let it be water under the bridge?”

“You're...sorry?” Wesker blinked at her with bloodshot eyes.

She took in a deep breath, let it out. “Yes, that's what I'm saying.” Another mental prod, slight and soft like a quiet sigh. “But when we get home, I'm moving my things into the spare room. I need my own bed, too.”

This finally stirred him, though he did not seem angry, only deflated. Wesker pushed his chair back from the desk. “If...that is how you feel,” he began as he stood, an emotion she could not place in his voice. Could it possibly be guilt? “But last night—”

“Is over with,” Sherry cut in while she picked up her iPhone from the coffee table. She woke up the screen with a flick of her thumb and checked the day's agenda. “Come on, you've got a busy morning.”

“Sherry, listen...”

“I'm your assistant. I'm assisting. That's my job,” she said a bit too sternly, but Wesker was still standing next to her and didn't budge. Did he want to beg her forgiveness? Try to explain himself? Ask something of her?

An apology _would_ be nice, but Sherry tamped down her curiosity. She looked up at him and rested a hand on the side of his face. Sherry softened her eyes and voice and made herself become his mate again, but only long enough to soothe him as she might a jumpy dog.

“I already told you, I made a mistake,” she told Wesker gently. “I've made lots of mistakes—and I'm here to fix them all.”

She didn't nudge him this time. It wasn't necessary. He needed to believe she was letting him off the hook as much as she'd needed to believe in him for so long.

Wesker nodded and allowed himself a wane smirk. “I do hope so, chatelaine,” he said, then he turned to pack up his computer.

Sherry trailed him out of the hotel room a short time later, but her mind wasn't on their meetings or all the notes she'd have to take. Silently, she thanked Jack, wherever he was.

Oh yes, she'd made many mistakes, but the biggest one was not stopping Wesker in the first place.

 

The sun had already set by 5pm and Sherry started arranging logs in the living room's large fireplace. Another damp Zurich winter was almost upon them, but this one already promised to be colder than most. She glanced out the room's bank of windows at the white and yellow lights shimmering over the river. And like a postcard come to life, it was just starting to snow.

Sherry wondered what what the weather was like back in New York. She wondered what the weather was like wherever Jake was right now. Was he safe? Was he happy? Had he met someone who wouldn't run away like she had?

She heard Wesker's voice in the kitchen, then saw his silhouette pacing in front of the open door.

“Then do what the FDA asks. Are you _trying_ to lose the U.S. market?” He was talking to Excella on the phone and sounding quite irate.

“I do not _care_ how much it will cost to reformulate the capsules. They have a street value of—what? $20, $30 American? That's _per pill_. Tricell's not seeing any of that money.” A pause. An exasperated sigh. “Well, you don't have to tell _them_ that. Do I have to write the press release for you? 'Tricell is committed to stopping the illegal trade of its products.' There. Do it for the children or...something.”

Sherry knew more or less what the discussion was about. Tricell manufactured a very popular opiate painkiller. It had replaced a forerunner from Umbrella on the market. Now it seemed the FDA was leaning on the company to make the drug harder to abuse. But this had nothing to do with Uroboros so it didn't matter to Wesker.

“I can't believe you just said 'street value,'” Sherry said when he came into the living room, still looking annoyed.

“This is crisis management 101!” he grumbled. “They just need to make the pills harder to crush. Excella knows better than to bother me with such trivial matters.” Wesker tossed his phone on the couch and went back to the files from earlier, which were now arranged in stacks on the coffee table and floor. Sherry resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

_Gosh, I'm so sorry your fake girlfriend doesn't understand you._

She knew he and Excella had become closer in her absence. How close, she still didn't know, or really want to know. Wesker was keeping Excella at arm's length except for official meetings, which meant Sherry didn't have to see her, either. Maybe he was finally wising up and realizing Excella might have an agenda of her own.

But she held her tongue and, as she'd been doing of late, said something diplomatic instead.

“Excella just values your opinion. You can't fault her for that.” Sherry balled up some old newspaper for kindling, then turned to point at the folders. “What're you going to do with those?”

“It has to be shredded,” Wesker said. “All these files are prospective paper trails leading to the Uroboros project. Equipment orders, some personnel files. Nothing damning in and of itself, but I'd rather not leave it lying around.”

“All of it has to go?” Sherry got an idea. “Hey, why not do this the old fashioned way?”

 

They tossed handfuls of crumpled-up papers in at a time, watching the flames ignite each piece and turn it into black flakes. Once most of the papers had been shoved in, Sherry settled herself on the floor by the fireplace. Between the roaring fire with its illicit fuel and the snow falling outside, she could not help but feel content. It brought back memories of her quiet life in London, before everything had changed, before she'd turned away from a bedroom door and Jack died and she'd started to play this game that had no winners.

Sherry stared into the flames and reminded herself that things were finally coming together. The Red Princess did not want to be a figurehead for Umbrella's remnants or the Organization, no matter what they promised her in return. She was no one's science experiment, either. But on that morning in Frankfurt, as she'd picked herself up for what felt like the millionth time, she found the Red Princess' purpose lying in the wreckage. Sherry was going to end this madness.

She would start here, in the world she knew best. Alex and her schemes could wait, would have to wait. Whatever Wesker was planning, it was closer on the horizon. She overheard him on the phone late at night, talking of pushing up production schedules and an impending trip to West Africa.

Wesker knelt beside her with the last of the files, ready for immolation. The burned records didn't matter, Sherry told herself. Once the world learned about Uroboros, a few office supply invoices wouldn't make a difference. Until then, she had to keep pretending to be his assistant, his helpmate. It would be worth it for a chance at the real smoking gun.

“This is lovely,” Wesker said dryly as he tossed the papers in. “Very 'eve of the military coup.'”

“Oh, hush.” Sherry could not stop herself from grinning, then she caught herself and looked away. He'd made her smile, just like he always could. And in this light, it was easy to pretend his eyes were just catching the reflection of the fire and when it died down, they'd be blue again.

A cramp roiled in her midsection. Just indigestion, Sherry told herself. Wesker turned to her, noticing the way she'd drawn up her knees and wrapped her arms around them.

“It's going to be a cold night,” he began. “Will you be...?”

Then silence, a space for the words he could not say: _Let me make it up to you_.

Sherry sighed and looked down at her knees. In a matter of minutes, she'd fallen back into the pattern of their old life and she knew they were close to breaking the truce, the new understanding that he'd lost the right to touch her.

But there was still a rhythm in her blood that pounded like a second heartbeat, as stubborn as the glowing embers in the fireplace. It was the bond, the one they'd both trampled, that she thought was dead when she'd run from him, that simply could not be alive after what he'd done to her. And yet, the small of back had begun to ache in that familiar way, and she hated herself for it.

Sherry stood up, telling him _no_ with her body as she strode towards the hallway that led to her new room.

“I'm going to bed,” she tossed back at him. “You have an early flight tomorrow. You should turn in, too.”

Wesker said nothing, and she was glad for it.

 

The snow was coming down harder now. Sherry watched its progress in the space between her curtains and she lay on her side in bed. Sleep would not come easily tonight.

She'd once felt an odd sense of pride about accepting Wesker for who he was. It meant she wasn't so alone after all. But then she'd seen him change and noticed the cracks that perhaps had always been there.

Then she'd left his side and known hope, fleeting and terrifying and wonderful. On the streets of a new city, in dive bars and forests and in the arms of a familiar stranger, she saw glimmers of a life she'd once thought was lost to her. She'd seen other paths.

_But first I have to finish walking this one._

Wesker would never understand, or at least claim he didn't. But as her plans stood right now, at least he'd still be alive.

Sherry shifted onto her back, hoping to calm her angry stomach, but that only made a sharp pain shoot through her abdomen. It felt lower this time. Deeper. She jumped out of bed and ran for her bathroom, though as soon as she sank to her knees beside the toilet, she realized she wasn't going to vomit. This was something else.

Perhaps Wesker had been right. They lived in ruins.

 

“You were no more than a few weeks along,” the doctor said as she pushed away the examination lamp. “When was the first day of your last period?”

Sherry sat up and pulled the hospital gown over her legs. She had to think about that.

“October, I think. I can't remember the date.”

She'd begun to bleed in the early morning hours, not long after Wesker left for his business trip.

“Sometimes my period's late when I'm under stress,” Sherry explained. “I wasn't...I mean, we weren't trying.”

The doctor nodded. “Still, miscarriage is quite common in the first trimester. There was nothing you could have done,” she reassured Sherry in a thick German accent. “Were you using birth control?”

Sherry avoided the older woman's gaze. “Not lately.”

“I'd encourage you to reconsider that.” The doctor placed a hand on Sherry's shoulder and her voice softened. “I think you will be fine. But if you have more pain or get a fever, call us at once.”

The doctor left the room so she could get dressed, but Sherry sat a while longer on the examination table.

She knew when it had happened. She knew _exactly_ when it had happened. On the night he'd shattered before her eyes, their bodies had finally accomplished what the contagion inside them had wanted for so long.

But she'd rejected the monstrosity brewing in her womb. She'd rejected _him_.

 

_November 16, 2007_

 

“Well, well. Looks like the rumors are true,” Ricardo Irving crowed as he walked into the room. “The prodigal daughter has returned. Didjya have a radical sabbatical?”

“Yeah, I had a blast,” Sherry said, glancing up at him. His oily smile was on full display today. He wanted something.

“Huh, you sound different,” Ricardo said, then his eyes shifted around the room. “Anybody else here?”

Sherry was sitting in a small, unused office in Tricell's headquarters. It was officially Wesker's office, though he'd never once used it. It wasn't as nice as Excella's office suite, but if Sherry never had to see those rooms again, it would be too soon.

She'd been tasked with quietly checking up on the recent activities of all researchers and other personnel involved with the Uroboros project to make sure they hadn't been talking to any outside organizations. So far, everyone was clean...except for the man standing in front of her right now.

“Nope, I'm down here all alone.” Sherry put on a pouty, mock-forlorn voice that she knew men like Ricardo appreciated. He closed the office door.

“That's good!” Ricardo said brightly as he sauntered over to the desk where Sherry was seated and came over to her side. “I gotta talk to you.”

She swiveled in her chair to face him and crossed her legs, suddenly glad she'd worn a dress and tights today.

“I'm all ears,” Sherry told him.

Ricardo stole a glance at her exposed legs. “Well, it's about your dad's project...”

“You mean my father and _Excella's_ project,” she corrected him lightly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ricardo said. “Look, I know some people who are interested in your dad's work. They'll pay a lot of money for it.”

“You mean investors?”

“No, I mean _clients_ ,” Ricardo said sharply. “Isn't he going to sell this damn thing when it's ready? Isn't that what it's all about?” He seemed upset for a moment, then sighed and got control of himself. “Look, I can't talk to him about this stuff. He won't listen to a go-between like me.” Ricardo flashed another smile. “Well, that's _his_ loss.”

“Alright, you have my attention.” Sherry picked up a pen from her desk and began to run it slowly between her fingers. It was dumb. It was cheap. But it was working. “And you know better than him...how?”

Ricardo planted a hand on the desk and leaned in, close enough for Sherry to smell his breath. “I think _we_ know better than him,” he purred. “You remember something I told you a long time ago? About how people like us gotta take our due?” His other hand reached down to stroke Sherry's knee. She didn't let herself flinch. “You wanna get rich, kiddo? It would be  real easy...”

Ricardo's fingers slid beneath the hem of her skirt. But it was worth it for the look of surprise on his face when she kicked him in the stomach. Sherry rose and shoved him hard with her hands, sending Ricardo tumbling to the floor. He cursed and writhed, but before he could sit up, Sherry planted the heel of her shoe against his collar bone. One quick jolt of pressure from her foot and he yelped, but obediently stayed down.

“It's about power,” Sherry said after a long moment. “My father doesn't need more money.”

“What the hell do you want?” Ricardo panted angrily.

“I know you've been selling viruses to terrorist groups,” Sherry told him calmly. “Sometimes it was under Excella's orders to get funds for the project. But lately you've been acting on your own. I've got some very interesting phone records so don't bother denying it.”

Ricardo groaned, his head lolling back against the carpet. “Aww _fuck_.”

“Listen, I won't blow you in... _if_ I can rely on you to give me a little help down the road.” Sherry took her foot off his chest. “Do we have a deal?”

 

_November 16, 2007_

_London_

 

He barely slept anymore. Every time he woke, he thought he saw the woman he'd once called mother standing at the foot of the bed, her white arms drenched in blood. Sometimes, his mother had Sherry's face.

_I came back because I heard you calling for me._

It was his fault. She'd returned with her boyish haircut and new voice, no longer a doll dressed up and smiling only for him. He'd smelled another man on her that night. Or maybe not. Maybe he'd been tired and angry and it was all just his imagination. Either way, he could not bear it, and...

“Albert?” Excella's hand was on his back, gentle and solicitous. “I was just thinking: I can probably get us a table at Nobu for dinner.” She moved around his side so she was facing him. “Or...maybe you just need to rest?”

That grin. So confident. So lovely. Even after all this time, she was certain that one more flirty dress or one more expensive dinner with too much wine would make him hers.

_She loves me._

Wesker had suspected it for a while now. Rather, she was in love with the man she thought he was. Worse still, she was a woman unaccustomed to not getting her way.

He rose from his chair. “I need some fresh air, that's all,” he assured Excella. “Would you mind handling the conference call with the board tonight?”

She looked wounded, but gathered herself up at once. “Of course, Albert,” Excella said bravely. Wesker rewarded her with a quick squeeze of her hand and left the meeting room.

 

He'd once known London well, mostly for Sherry's sake so he could help her feel at home when he first brought her to this city. Now it was the same blur of stones and traffic found in all European cities—the mishmash of old and new buildings, little parks and statues of dead generals on horseback. He hated it because it made him think of _her_.

A woman walked past him, looked up, gasped, strode away quickly. Wesker realized he'd been plodding along aimlessly and had probably almost plowed into her. He straightened his sunglasses and turned his head to apologize, to show this stranger he still had a shred of the impeccable manners he'd once prided himself on. Then he saw who the woman was and smirked.

She knew there was no point in running, but she did quicken her pace. Wesker caught up with her quickly, grabbed her by the elbow and steered her into a narrow alley between some quaint shops. It had all happened so fast that he was sure no one on the street had noticed.

The woman had the good sense not to struggle and he now had her back pressed against the cobblestone wall with his hands firmly wrapped around her shoulders. Perhaps a passerby would think they were merely lovers trying to get some privacy. The notion made him grin even wider.

“Hello, Ada,” he whispered in her face.

“Hi.” To her credit, Ada smiled back at him. “Well, I suppose this is what I get for letting my guard down.”

“I supposed so,” Wesker replied. “My dear, it has been fartoo long. Is it true, though? You've been working with this woman who deigns to call herself my sister?”

This seemed to rattle her. “Sherry told you that?” she blurted out.

“Hmm,” Wesker grumbled. “And does this Alex woman know about our unfinished business?”

“Wait!” Ada hissed under her breath. “I have something for you. Intel. Just let me go and I'll give you something very, very worthwhile.”

This gave Wesker pause. If there was one thing Ada was good for—was _always_ good for—it was information.

“You have thirty seconds. If I don't like what I hear, then I snap your neck. Sound reasonable?”

Ada lifted her chin and scowled at him. “Sybil Muller. Does that name mean anything to you?”

“Define ' _mean_ anything,'” he said slowly. But Ada had already seen his neck tighten, seen his mouth twitch when she spoke that name.

He remembered a woman standing alone on the stone stairs that lead down to a garden. She wore a leather motorcycle jacket over her short green party dress. She was smoking a cigarette and staring off into the dark. He'd first noticed her because unlike the other women at the party, her hair wasn't crimped or teased to high heaven. Instead, it fell in gentle copper waves down to her shoulders.

They exchanged the usual pleasantries.

“Oh, I almost never come to these things,” she'd said with a deep chuckle. “It's so boring, hanging out with coworkers.” Her accent was strange and charming.

A severe blond woman walked over to them. “Syb, is this guy bothering you?”

“No, Bertha. It's fine.” She waved her friend off then smiled at him. “But I think he wants to.”

That one-night-stand turned into a fling, then became a full-blown affair. Because of Sybil's work for the U.S.S., she was often incommunicado for days or weeks at a time. More than once, he'd resigned himself to the idea that she'd been killed or forced to disappear. Then she'd show up at his apartment in the middle of the night with the scent of some foreign place still on her skin.

It was his favorite kind of arrangement: no expectations and few rules. Just two consenting adults enjoying each other's company. There was no way to know how long it would've lasted had it not been for the...unpleasantness.

“Sybil has a son named Jakob,” Ada said mildly. “He's about 23 now. I'll let you do the math.”

_She said that was taken care of._

But people lied, and Sybil was a trained liar. A trained liar with a son the same age as their aborted child would've been.

He released Ada's shoulders and she gasped and sagged against the wall, ready to flee or fight. Wesker stepped back a few paces to show he'd changed his mind about killing her.

“If he is mine, he'll find me on his own,” he told Ada. “We monsters have a way of doing that.” He nodded to the alley's end where streetlamps beckoned. “Go. Don't let me see your face again.”

“Of course, _daddy_.” Ada gave him a little bow and was gone in a flash.

 

_November 17, 2007_

_Zurich_

 

“Oh, I thought you were coming back tomorrow!” Sherry exclaimed when she saw him bent over his desk in the little side room he'd made into his home office.

“I switched to an earlier flight,” Wesker said. “How were things in my absence?”

Sherry rested a hand on the doorway but did not step inside. “Fine. Everyone checks out so far, but I still have some work to do.” She wavered for a moment, then decided to hedge her bets just in case word of her ER visit got back to him. “I, uhh...I was sick while you were gone. Stomach virus. It was pretty bad. I went to the doctor and everything. But I'm fine now.”

“I see. Very good.” Wesker returned to the papers on his desk, then raised his head again. “Sherry, when was the last time you were ill before this?”

She wavered for a moment, clutching at the doorframe. “What do you mean?”

Wesker's eyes were on her now, two coals burning in a furnace. “Ill. Sick. A cold. A fever. Anything.”

“I...couldn't say.”

She couldn't say because she did not get sick. Maybe the last time she'd been ill was with that summer cold a few weeks before the Raccoon City outbreak. That was the last instance she remembered for sure.

“Well, never mind then,” he said.

Sherry wanted to go back to her own room, but then she noticed some odd photos on Wesker's desk. Sherry reminded herself that she was building and arsenal—information she could withhold or dole out to devastating effect. So she stepped through the doorway and went to his side.

“What's this?” she asked.

“Progress report on the experiments we're running at the Africa facility.” Wesker gathered the pictures up and put them in a folder. “There's 16, perhaps 18 months left to completion.”

Sherry tired to reach across the desk and grab the folder. “But I saw people—”

“They're serving a higher purpose,” he said, tucking the folder into a desk drawer. Sherry heard a lock click when he shut it. “Nothing you need to trouble yourself with it.”

Sherry flexed her hands into fists, perturbed.

“I'm a part of this project, too,” she reminded him with a prod. “I deserve to know. I deserve to see.”

He cocked his head for a moment as if he'd heard a far-off sound. Sherry pulled back, even stepped back, worried he'd felt the fingers of her mind reaching for his.

“And you will see it all in due time. For now, I will be making a extended trip to the facility in a few weeks.” Wesker turned his chair as if he were about to stand, but Sherry blocked his way.

“I want to go, too.”

Wesker shook his head. “No, I need you to remain here and continue—”

Sherry fell to her knees, threw her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his thigh. She felt Wesker recoil from her grasp, but he did not push her away.

“Take me with you!” she pleaded, letting the threat of tears thicken her voice.

“Sherry, please! Control yourself!”

Hearing the terror in his voice, she gave herself over to hysterics, stabbing at him with each sob she forced from her body. Sherry pulled herself up and grasped his shirt, burying her face in its folds.

“Don't push me away,” she moaned. “Please let me come with you. I'll help. I'll do whatever you need me to do!”

She was begging with her body—the body she had no intention of giving to him ever again. But he did not have to know that now. He did not have to know that she wept for the memory of seeing her own blood and knowing how close she's come to bringing another monster into the world. He did not have to know she was easily ignoring the ache in her back.

“Please,” she crooned and looked up at Wesker, playing the pliant girl for him, nudging him along with her mind the same way she used to do with the dogs. “I thought you trusted me. Haven't I proven myself? I...I even said I was sorry.”

A change was coming over him as she spoke. His ridged body began to sag and Wesker finally sighed. He smoothed her hair just like he used to when it was long, then took her face in both hands and wiped the crocodile tears from her cheeks.

“I will...” Wesker murmured. “Yes, we will find something for you to do at the facility.”

Sherry slumped against him again, relieved and exhausted. It had worked. She hid her grin against his shirt and recalled a line from  _La Vita Nuova_ .

_Behold a god more powerful than I, who, coming, will rule over me._


	22. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

 

_A strange encounter, to be sure_   
_He was wicked, he was pure_   
_Hear him calling, he's calling for you_

  
_Come with me into the mystic_   
_Come with me into the night_   
_We can live, live forever_

 

_\--“Skinwalker,” Robbie Robertson_

 

_St. Petersburg_

_January 5, 2008_

 

“See, the thing about _The Wicker Man_ is, the original is good. Really good. But this Nic Cage nonsense...”

“You are such a nerd,” Tony said, rolling his dark eyes. “That's the word, right? Nerd?”

“Yup, that's the word.” Jake sighed and glanced around the metro corridor for their mark, but didn't see a face that matched the photo he had in his coat pocket.

There were plenty of other people to watch, though. A ragged girl played the violin in the corner with disarming precision. Old timers sold cheap-looking clothes and pastries from makeshift vendor stalls. In front of them, wide concrete steps led to the plaza above and let in the cold wind. From where they stood, Jake could see the tops of the long escalators that went down to the metro proper, far below the city's swampy foundations. This was one of the deepest subways in the world. He'd read that somewhere. The scene spurred memories of another place he'd once known, some pleasant, some sad.

“Man, let's just do this and get out of here,” he grumbled.

“What, you have big plans for tonight?”

“Yeah.” Jake cracked a grin at his friend. “TV on, pants off, eating a jar of Nutella with a spoon. That a recipe for some fuckin' romance right there.”

A pretty British girl heard them speaking English and came over. She was an art student, she explained coyly, and quite lost, too. She pushed her blond hair away from her face and giggled when Tony said something funny. When she finally walked away, it was with Tony's cell number saved on her mobile phone.

“So sweet,” Tony said after she'd gone. “Trying to find the Winter Palace.”

“Yeah, I bet you'd like to give her directions to...to your dick.” Jake felt a craving for a cigarette for the first time in months. They were so cheap here, but he'd promised his mom he would quit. “How do you _do_ it, man?” he asked his friend, annoyed.

Tony shook his head and leaned back against the dingy tile wall. “Women are simple. You just have to observe them. They will tell you what they want.” Suddenly, his eyes lit up and he snapped his fingers at Jake. “Like that girl, the one you brought to the party in Frankfurt. Remember? She was a dove, but with a broken heart. All you had to do was—”

“Cut it out,” Jake grimaced. “You're makin' _me_ want to fuck you. Anyway, don't talk about that chick. She was...” He looked down at his boots.

_It was months ago. Let it go already!_

It had seemed innocent enough that night in New York—just a weird coincidence. But the second time he'd run into her, Jake knew something was up. Her ice princess act and the fear he saw in her eyes were all perfectly crafted to draw a man in. Still, he'd thrown caution to the wind because he couldn't bring himself to believe the Powers That Be wanted anything to do with a hired gun like him. Maybe there was a reason they'd met again. He'd even let himself hope that maybe, just maybe, she wanted him, too.

Then her goddamn cell phone buzzed and he'd seen the look on her face and known. Spy, honeypot or whatever the hell she was, she belonged to someone else.

“I've sworn off blondes,” Jake concluded with a snort.

“Fine,” Tony said and they went back to silently scanning the station. But now Jake was thinking about _her_ and still wanting a smoke.

He was just about to give in and break for the nearest kiosk when Tony nodded toward a man heading for the stairs. Their target. It was time to move.

 

They followed the man out of the station and trailed him at a distance, walking past imposing Soviet-era apartment complexes made of concrete. In the corner of his eye, Jake spied fragments of murals glorifying a worker's paradise that never existed. He kept in a shudder, and hazy memories of tanks and cold nights and hunger, to himself. He did not like this place, but a job was a job.

They were on Vasilyevsky Island and heading due west toward the rocky shore, where the land met the Gulf of Finland. The buildings got further apart the closer they got to the water, and there were fewer people around. Near an empty lot, Tony pulled out his cell phone, dialed it and spoke two words. Less than a block ahead of them, a van rolled around a corner and stopped alongside the man they'd been following. He had no time to react. The two mercenaries who jumped out of the van were pulling him inside in a matter of seconds.

Jake stole a glance behind him to make sure no one had see the grab, then slapped Tony on the back and made a dash for the van. They jumped inside, someone pulled the door shut behind them and they sped away from the curb so fast that Jake nearly fell on top of their terrified target. His comrades had already duct taped the man's mouth, but his eyes were wide and pleading with everyone around him. For a split second, Jake worried they'd grabbed the wrong man. Then he looked again.

Lying on the van's floor was a paunchy, middle-aged Russian man with thinning hair, a ski slope nose and huge green eyes that were getting teary and made Jake look away. Yup, they had the right guy.

 

Jake knew the van was driving to the edge of the island, to the abandoned apartment complex where they'd agreed to make the drop-off. Jake hadn't clapped eyes on the guy who'd hired them, and probably wouldn't. It didn't matter, though. The job was nearly done.

The van came to a halt and Tony stood up and opened the door. Jake saw they were in an overgrown courtyard. A man was waiting outside, a guard or security detail of some kind. Very official looking.

Jake recalled who their captive was—a researcher at a big drug company—and what he'd done—try to sell top-secret data to his employer's competitors. Now it looked like the devil was coming to take his due. Though why a company like Tricell needed to hire mercs to capture some scientist was beyond Jake.

The guard motioned with his hand. “You, bring Dr. Antipov inside,” he said in English.

Jake frowned at the man. Their mission was supposed to end here with the drop-off. He cast a glance back at Tony, who only shrugged.

Upon hearing his name, Antipov began to struggle and make awful groaning noises with his gagged mouth. He'd already pissed himself once on the ride over and suddenly Jake just wanted this to be over with.

“It's fine, I'll help,” Tony said. He grabbed the scientist by the shoulder and yanked him to his feet. Jake took his other arm and together they dragged the man out of the van and led him into the courtyard. It had snowed that morning and everything around them was gray and white, like someone had bled the color out of the world.

“Bring him downstairs,” the guard commanded. Jake looked back at his friends still inside the van.

“Just go,” one of them said in Italian. “This place is deserted. Nobody will see us. We'll wait here.”

 

Downstairs was even worse. A few bare bulbs lit a corridor that was painted a sickly pale green. The whole misbegotten building was peeling, crumbling. In a few more years, it would just be a dusty pile of rebar and concrete.

The guard led them into a basement room and pointed to a chair sitting next to a rickety table. A liberal application of more duct tape secured the whimpering scientist to his seat. Jake took a step back and let out the breath he'd been holding. He looked up and noticed a tall figure standing in a corner. He could've sworn the man hadn't been there when they came in.

“Here's your friend,” Tony said to the shadow. “Signed, sealed, delivered.”

“Good.” The man's rich voice rang through the room. “Wait a moment, will you?”

He came towards them and even in the room's semi-darkness, Jake saw the tall man's open trench coat and tailored suit underneath. He saw combed-back blond hair and a pair of mirrored sunglasses that made it hard to gauge the man's age, let alone his expression.

_Sunglasses indoors?Who the hell does this guy think he is?_

Jake chuckled under his breath and looked to Tony for agreement.

“Find something amusing?” the man said in a voice so commanding, so frosty, that Jake snapped back to attention.

He shook his head. “Naw, just something stuck in my throat.”

The man pointed at Tony. “You, go wait outside.” His gloved finger swiveled towards Jake. “You stay.” When neither of them budged, the blond man added, “I'll make it worth your while.”

Jake nodded to Tony. “Go on. I got this.”

Tony lingered a moment longer, more out of politeness than worry. He and Jake had been in plenty of scrapes together; Tony knew he could take care of himself. Jake watched him amble off down the corridor and soon the sound of Tony's footsteps faded. Antipov had gone quiet except for his labored breathing. Jake ignored him as best he could and looked back at the stranger.

“You name is Jakob Muller, correct?” the man asked.

“'Fraid so,” Jake mumbled through a mouth that suddenly felt like it was fully of marbles. “Who wants to know?”

The blond man put his hands in his coat pockets and regarded Jake with a blank look that made his blood run cold. “I'm always on the lookout for new talent and I heard you're the best in your unit,” he said. “You've seen combat, correct?”

“Sure, a couple times.” Jake shrugged, but there was no denying he was good at what he did. He even enjoyed it sometimes—the rush he got when bullets started to fly, the raw sensation of his fist colliding with muscle and bone. But not the killing. Never the killing. He didn't like talking about it, anyway. No one understood.

“Is that how you came by that scar?”

“Motorcycle accident.” A lie, but it was what he always told people he didn't trust. And Jake was starting to seriously dislike all these questions.

The blond man crossed the room and flipped a light switch on the wall. Over the table, a rusty ceiling lamp flickered to life. Jake looked at the table and saw what lay on it: a crowbar, a pair of needle-nose pliers, some nasty-looking kitchen knives and an array of surgical instruments, including a gleaming scalpel. His eyes fell to the floor where he saw a red gas can sitting under the table. He was willing to bet it was full. And just his luck, he had a lighter in his pocket. It was like something out of a horror movie. Now Jake wished he had a cigarette _and_ a bottle of vodka.

The man strode back to the middle of the room. “Do you know how to conduct an interrogation?” he asked Jake.

“Sure, I've been trained.” That felt like the safest answer and wasn't exactly a lie. Jake had witnessed his fair share of interrogations, though he always hated to watch them. Sometimes things got out of hand and he had to step in before somebody got killed.

Antipov had seen what was on the table too and was struggling again. His cries were barely muffled by the duct tape. Jake knew it was no good and wished the scientist would make it easier on himself and just stop.

“Extract the information I need from this man and I will see to it that you receive a bonus for your trouble, no strings attached,” the shadow intoned. “Say, $20,000?”

Jake folded his arms and snorted. The _gall_ of this man... “You didn't hire us to torture the guy,” he said. “We were just supposed to bring him here.”

“I'm asking for an interrogation, not torture. $30,000.”

This gave Jake pause. He didn't care about the blond man's job offer, but his mom's lease in Prague was up for renewal and her landlord was threatening to raise the rent. She didn't want to move back to her cousin's place in the States. Jake didn't want that, either. They'd never been happy there. But here was a solution. Easy money if he'd ever seen it.

Jake took off his coat and tossed it on the floor. Antipov was about to die of fright anyway. A few smacks and he's give up whatever Mr. Sunglasses At Night wanted. Surely that was all it would take. Surely.

“I won't need any of that shit,” Jake said, nodding to the table. “What do you want to know?”

The blond man's mouth betrayed a hint of a grin. “He's stolen some files and hidden them. I need to know where they are. That's all.”

“Okay, got it.” Jake advanced on the man taped to the chair, focusing on Antipov's chest so he wouldn't have to look at his beet-red face. He reached up and ripped the duct tape from the scientist's mouth. Antipov screamed, but Jake drowned him out with his own voice which, when he needed it to be, was pretty damn loud.

“Don't bother! Nobody can hear you!” he shouted, then asked Antipov's chest, “Where are the files? Just tell me and we'll let you go.”

“No, no. You're doing it all wrong,” the man in the trench coat sighed. “Did I ever say I was letting him go?”

“P-p-please, Dr. Albert,” Antipov stammered in English, craning his head to look at the man standing behind Jake. “You approved my leave of absence yourself. You _know_ I am innocent. If someone has said anything against me—”

“Shut him up,” the man said.

Jake stared at the ugly concrete wall for a moment. Antipov had stolen from his employer. Maybe this was a bit harsh, but did he honestly expect to get away with it? He backhanded the scientist across the face, drawing blood. Antipov yelped in pain, then began to beg again.

“Please, please, I know nothing!”

Now Jake made himself look Antipov in the face. He had to end this.

“Bullshit!” he yelled. “Where'd you stash them? Where are the files? Tell us and maybe you'll get out of this in one piece.” Then Jake remembered what day it was and added with a sneer, “Maybe you'll even get home in time for Orthodox Christmas. Wouldn't that be nice?”

Where were these horrid words coming from? Jake realized he was scared, too. Scared of what it meant to be in this basement with the man in the black trench coat. Maybe he'd misjudged the situation...

“This isn't working,” the blond man said, sighing again like a frustrated teacher. “Try something else.”

Jake knew what he meant. The things on the table. He wouldn't. He couldn't. Telling himself this was far better than the alternative, Jake bent over and punched Antipov in the stomach—hard.

“Where are the files?” he demanded again over the scientist's groans.

“I...I took no files. You must believe me,” Antipov said between coughs.

“Not working,” the blond man reminded Jake tersely.

Jake grabbed the scientist by the chin and forced him to look up.

“Is this what you want? That shit on the table?” Jake snarled, feeling panic rising inside him. He was not good at this. Not even the promise of money could help. If anything, it was making things worse. “What do you want first? Want me to break your knees?” He gathered Antipov's blood-stained collar in one hand and yanked the man's face close to his. “Or how about I slice off one of your ears? I'll even let you pick which one.”

Antipov shook his head, tears swimming in his eyes.

_Maybe I'm wearing him down after all._

“I have no files,” the scientist croaked. “I promise you. Dr. Albert, you have the wrong man.”

Jake let go of the scientist's shirt and turned back to the blond man.

“Why does he keep saying that?” Jake was surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded. Had he been shouting that much? “Are you sure...?”

The man took a step forward, bearing his teeth. He shoved Jake aside. “You were hired to do a job,” he growled. “And now I see I must do it for you.”

He hit Antipov with such speed, such ferocity, that his seat rocked backwards and almost toppled over. The scientist had no time to scream before the man grabbed his shoulder and the chair's front legs slammed back to the floor.

“Where are the files?” he roared in Antipov's face. “ _Where_?!” Abruptly, the blond man turned his head, regarding Jake. “See, _this_ is how it's done,” he said blithely, and Jake shuddered. Who _was_ this guy?

Clearing his throat, the man straightened his back and reached for something on the table.

“Here,” he said, and pressed the pliers into Jake's hand. “Start pulling out his fingernails.”

“ _What_?” Jake staggered backward and stared at the blond man. He knew there were crazy people in the world—people who needed the suffering of others to get off, or to feel anything at all. Had he been pulled into some sick game? How long had he been in this basement? Why hadn't anyone come for him?

The man looked bored and started adjusting his gloves. “Or his teeth. Your choice.” There was no emotion in his voice. None.

“He's not gonna give it up,” Jake said, staring down at the pilers at his hand. “I'm not sure there's anything _to_ give up.” He set the awful tool back on the table and looked around for his coat. “I'm leaving.”

Suddenly, the blond man was in front of him as if he'd appeared out of thin air. “Come, now. Once more unto the breach and all that.” He grinned at Jake. “$50,000.”

Jake thrust a finger in the man's face but he didn't flinch. “I don't know what you heard about me, but I only kill people who are trying to kill _me_!” Jake shouted. “Got it?”

Jake thought he saw a strange flicker of light behind the man's sunglasses. “I see,” he said.

Antipov, all but forgotten in his chair, was giddy now, coughing, half-weeping, half-giggling. Jake and the blond man turned to look at him.

“Dr. Albert, you are wrong. You are _wrong_.” Antipov shook his bloodied head. “I took nothing from Tricell. Nothing.” Then the scientist looked up and gasped, as if he was seeing Jake for the first time. “Dr. Albert—this boy. His eyes. Is he...?”

A gunshot rang out. Jake threw his hands in front of his face and jumped back. When he lowered them, he saw Antipov's chair had fallen backwards onto the floor. The scientist's head was in the shadows, but once glance was all it took for Jake to know that the top of it was gone. The blond man was standing with his right arm outstretched. Jake saw a high-powered pistol in his hand and was about to make a break for the door when he spoke again.

“You have potential,” the man said calmly as he opened his coat and put the pistol back in his shoulder holster. “Leave this mercenary foolishness behind. I can offer you a place in my organization where your talents will be appreciated.”

Jake stopped himself from running. This man wasn't going to hurt him. He finally grabbed his coat off the floor, took a deep breath and found his voice again.

“No,” Jake told the blond man. He looked down at his olive drab sweater and saw it was splattered with red. Then he sucked in another breath, this one full of the scent of metal and smoke and blood, and let all the anger spill out. “You think I do this because I _like_ it?” he demanded. “Some people don't get a choice in life. Some of us just do what we have to do to survive!”

The man frowned and clasped his hands behind his back, staying silent. But Jake wasn't done. He pulled on his coat and took a step forward.

“That guy didn't take a damn thing from you, did he? You just felt like screwing with him. Pieces of shit like you—you're used to getting whatever you want. You use people and throw money around and expect everybody to look the other way.” Jake growled the accusation, then raised his voice again. “Well guess what? You think you can buy me? You think you can impress me by killing some guy?” He spat on the floor and finally turned to the open door. “You can't. Fuck you. Go crawl back into whatever hole you came out of.”

 

Jake clambered back into the van, still fumbling with his coat's buttons. Tony's face fell when he saw him.

“There's blood all over you!” he gasped. The others were staring at him, questions poised on their lips.

“It's not mine,” Jake shot back. “We're done here,” he called to the driver. “Let's go.”

Tony caught hold of his forearm. “What happened? Did the target—”

Jake wretched his arm away and planted himself between two of his comrades on the van's floor. “Nothing. Nothing happened,” he said as the van's engine rumbled to life. He wished it were true.

 

_Kijuju Autonomous Zone, West Africa_

_March 11, 2008_

 

“Is it my turn to tell a story?” Sherry glanced around the campfire. “Okay, let me think.”

“It must be an _American_ story,” Robert, one of the locals who worked in the mines, pointed out in his musically-accented English. “Like the one Adam told.”

The group around the campfire was taking turns telling monster stories from their various cultures. But Adam, a miner from the States, had already told the myth of the Jersey Devil, and Sherry was hard pressed to scare up another example of a uniquely American monstrosity. She couldn't think of any good tales about Bigfoot. The Bell Witch didn't count as a monster, and she didn't really know the story of the Mothman. Then Sherry thought of something. She dropped her voice down low.

“Long ago, a man went to Coyote and said 'give me power.'”

The faces around the fire pit leaned in closer despite the heat. It had been a warm day, topping out near 100 degrees Fahrenheit. But as soon as the sun went down, people sought the refuge of firelight. It was an ancient instinct; fire kept predators away. And in this ramshackle mining community that was halfway between a boomtown and a savannah village straight out of _National Geographic_ , the fire's light somehow felt more stable, more real, than the bluish glow of the small TV sets that emanated from many of the houses on the other side of the road. They were on the edge of the grassland here. Walk too far in any direction without a gun or a companion and you'd come to regret it—that had been one of Sherry's first lessons in Kijuju. Not long after she first arrived, another newcomer, a mine supervisor, apparently rambled off alone to take pictures of local wildlife. When he didn't show up for his shift the next day, a search party went out but only found parts of him. They'd known it was the supervisor because whatever had eaten him had deemed his expensive camera unworthy of digestion.

Something was wrong, a few people said then, and kept on saying it. Something was always wrong when the animals started acting strangely. There was a new energy in the region. The reopened quarries and bustling oil field were supposed to revitalize Kijuju and make it wealthy. For now, they were bringing in lots of foreigners, people from China and India and Australia and even the United States, and it was making a lot of Kijuju's old timers—the ones who still remembered colonial rule like it was yesterday—uneasy.

 _The outsiders are here to take what they can and leave us with nothing._ It had happened before. They clicked their tongues at the new buildings being slapped together overnight. They scoffed at Tricell's humanitarian operations, which Sherry was nominally a part of.

There was already a clinic in town, staffed by two Kijuju-born doctors who'd trained abroad then returned to Africa. Most of the locals went there instead, so Sherry was left doling out antibiotics and Band-Aids to the foreign miners, listening to their stories and waiting. Always, always waiting.

But the miners weren't terrible company. These were tough men, just the kind she couldn't seem to shake. They worked hard, drank hard and preferred their wages in cash. And they liked that Sherry could keep up with them. Some tried to flirt with her, but most of the miners were merely friendly, even a little protective.

She didn't need or want protecting, but Sherry tolerated their worries and questions for the sake of her cover story. As far as anyone in Kijuju knew, she was just a young aid worker, alone in a foreign land save for occasional visits from her supervisor—the man who was in charge of Tricell's activities in Kijuju.

“Is that guy your dad? He acts like your friggin' dad,” Adam had remarked more than once.

Her father was dead, she finally told Adam. That had stopped his pestering in its tracks.

And where was Wesker now? He'd gone off into the savannah a week ago, taking supplies to an outpost, he'd said. Sherry knew better—she just didn't know the details. And without those, she could not make her next move. But Wesker would slip up eventually. He always did.

“Coyote was very clever,” she told the little circle of people around the fire. “He knew just what to tell the man: 'Desecrate the bones of your ancestors. Scatter them on the ground for carrion.' So the man went to the burial ground and did this, then went back to Coyote with their bones.”

A few of the men stirred uncomfortably and Sherry had to hold in her grin. They hadn't expected a story like _this_.

“'You have done well,' Coyote told the man. 'Now you must corrupt a youth. Show them violence. Show them lust and envy. Do this and return to me.'”

Sherry saw headlights from a vehicle in the distance, following the bumpy road into town. Some of the miners saw it, too, and wondered aloud who could be arriving at this late hour. Sherry raised a hand. All eyes moved back to her.

“The man did these things and returned to Coyote, who was very pleased indeed. Finally, Coyote said, 'commit a murder. Kill an innocent person.'”

The vehicle came into sight. It was a dust-covered jeep. Its engine practically roared in the quiet night and Sherry waited a moment for it to either pass or stop so she could go on with her story. The jeep came to a halt near a building a few yards off. The clinic. The driver switched the engine off, returning the street to near silence. Sherry cleared her throat and went on.

“The man left Coyote and did this thing. His final task complete, he returned to Coyote with his victim's body and said, 'I've done all you asked. Now give me power.'”

The jeep's doors opened. Sherry glanced over and saw several men get out. Two were Tricell- employed commandos dressed in desert camo. Sherry knew they were there nominally for security. Kijuju's own police force tolerated them, grudgingly. The third man was tall and wore a black duster coat and, though it was almost the middle of the night, sunglasses. Wesker was back.

“The man fell to his knees, thanking Coyote for his gift. Then Coyote said, 'I did nothing for you. All you did, you did of your own free will. The power is all your own. The curse is your own, too.'”

“A curse?” Robert cocked his head. “What happened to this man?”

Sherry swiveled on the wooden crate she was sitting on a looked at him. “He became a monster. But Coyote was a trickster, you see,” she explained. “Some people say he fooled the man into becoming a monster. But the truth is, the man already had a monstrous soul. He only became what he already was: a skinwalker.”

Adam clapped his hands together, making everyone jump at the sudden sound. “Skinwalkers! I've heard'a them! My brother lives in New Mexico and he says folks on the rez still believe in 'em.”

“That's not very scary,” a familiar voice said. A new person had joined the circle and plunked down on another crate next to Sherry. She looked over and saw Sean, dressed in cargo pants and a dust-covered T-shirt.

“Hey,” he said.

She pulled in a quick breath and felt a tingling heat surge through her body. “Where did you...?”

Sean smiled his usual disarming smile. “I just got here this afternoon. We should talk.”

“I...have to finish my story first,” she told Sean, not taking her eyes of him for a second. She was not about to jump up and leave the circle. Sherry stared steadily at him for a moment, sifting through the reasons Sean might have to be in Kijuju, then sighed inwardly when she realized the only way she'd know for sure was to ask him.

“Oh, it's not done?” Robert sounded excited.

Sherry turned back to her audience. “See, skinwalkers _are_ scary. They call for you,” she said. “They tempt others to join them. They're powerful and some people can't bring themselves to pass that up. So there's more than one skinwalker now. There's lots of them, in fact— _if_ you believe the stories.”

Sherry let silences settle over the circle so they'd all know the tale was finished. For a moment, the only sound was the steady crackling of the fire. Then Adam began clapping and a few other miners joined in.

“That _was_ a good story,” Adam declared as the men fell to discussing other topics: the weather (too hot), the conditions at the mine (bearable, but they could stand to be paid more) and an odd animal one of the men had spied a few days ago prowling near the miners' camp (a lion, he said, and a very big one).

Sherry stood up and walked a few paces away from the bonfire, knowing Sean would follow.

When they were standing beside the road, Sean said, “I like the short hair. It's cute.”

“Why are you here?” Sherry replied, trying to keep her voice from sounding too terse.

“All business as always, I see,” he chuckled. “The Consortium sent me. Don't worry, I'm just going to poke around for a few days then take off.”

“It's a small town,” Sherry said, scanning the road behind them for signs of Wesker, but it looked like he'd already gone into the clinic. “Hate to disappoint you, but you're going to get all your poking done in one afternoon.” She wasn't about to open up to him, not with him showing up like this out of the blue, not while Sherry still suspected him of selling her out two years ago.

Sean's face hardened then, as if he sensed her mistrust. “Listen, I know you dad is here and Excella's been popping in every few weeks, too. The Consortium just wants to know what Tricell's up to, and they're willing to keep things quiet,” he said. “So if there's something big going down, they expect a piece. That's all.”

Sherry crossed her arms. “A piece of humanitarian relief efforts? I think there's been a mistake.”

“We'll see,” Sean said. “I'm not here to bust you, if that's what you're worried about. I'm just here to investigate.” He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Anyway, it's been a long time. We've got some catching up to do.”

“I'm tired,” Sherry told him. “Maybe tomorrow.”

She turned away from Sean and began to head back towards the bonfire, even though it was in the opposite direction of the clinic.

“Really? So that's how it's going to be?” Sean called after her. But there was amusement in his voice—a confidence that seemed to say, _you'll give in eventually_.

She heard the sound of his footsteps receding behind her on the gravely road, but Sherry just looked straight ahead, toward the pitch-dark grassland that lay beyond the miners' little circle of warmth and camaraderie. Then she stopped in her tracks.

Adam had just gotten up and was walking past her. “What is it, hon?” He glanced back to the savannah, but Sherry knew he saw nothing. She, however, saw all too perfectly.

“Adam,” she murmured. “I want you to hand me your rifle. Slowly. Don't make a sound.”

The miner just stared at Sherry for a moment. He had a high-powered game rifle slung over his shoulder—his usual accessory for nighttime excursions.

“Something out there?” Adam asked, matching her quiet tone. “Tell me where it is and I'll shoot it.”

“No. You'll miss.” She searched his face in the semi-darkness, pleading as best she could in a whisper. “It's getting closer. I can see it. _Please_.”

He looked back to the circle of his friends. They were all still laughing and talking, knocking back warm beers and oblivious to anything else. Adam reached for his rifle's strap and began to pull it off his shoulder. His square jaw was tight and Sherry saw the fear in his face. She remembered the supervisor who'd been found in pieces and wondered if Adam was thinking about him too.

“Give it to _me_ ,” she said.

For a second, she thought he wasn't going to do it. She thought he wasn't going to do _anything_. Then, in a few quick motions, Adam took the rifle off his back and handed it to Sherry.

Now a few men around the fire noticed what was happening and were looking at them. But before anyone could utter so much as a “hey,” Sherry raised the rifle to her shoulder, flicked off the safety, aimed for the blackness between the two glowing red eyes that were hovering in the tall grass just yards away, and pulled the trigger.

 

“You're something of a hero, chatelaine,” Wesker said. “Killing a suspected man-eater, with one shot no less.”

“I do what I can,” Sherry replied with a yawn. She was slouched in the white plastic chair opposite Wesker's makeshift office in the clinic's back room, looking utterly bored. Not too long ago, such an insolent display would've sent his blood boiling—but in a different way. It was near dawn and they'd both been wrapped up in the shooting's aftermath all night.

“I need to get some sleep. The locals are throwing me a little party tonight,” Sherry said. “Apparently nobody's killed a lion in quite a few years. You should come.”

Wesker sucked in a sharp breath. He knew Sherry was joking, but public exposure was the last thing he needed right now. “Can't. I'm allergic to drum circles.”

Sherry let out a soft chuckle and stood up. But instead of leaving the room, she walked over to his battered desk. “By the way, I did get a good look at the carcass before the miners and I burned it.”

Wesker made a show of shuffling some papers on his desk. “And?” he asked dryly.

“How many of them are there? Why are they stalking the town? And why didn't you tell me about them? You know damn well that I can control them.”

He sighed, took off his sunglasses and looked up at Sherry, who did not flinch. She never flinched when she saw his eyes, and he realized he may as well tell her the truth about the animal. The proverbial and literal cat was out of the bag anyway.

“We infected five adult male lions with the stabilized T virus I've been working on for several years. They were released a good distance from the town, close to those ruins the locals think are haunted. They were meant to act as a deterrent to anyone who might get too curious.”

Sherry crossed her arms and sighed. “Of course, I should've known.” She sounded very, very annoyed indeed. “And you really thought they wouldn't stray into populated areas?”

“They were fitted with shock collars to control their movements,” Wesker told her. “Apparently that subject somehow slipped his off.”

“That lion killed before. You _know_ he did.” Sherry snapped at him. “What's in those ruins, Al? ”

Wesker leaned forward in the rickety chair. “Not now. But in a few more days, I promise.”

Sherry's eyes went wide. “Yes _,_ now!” she shouted. “I'm sick of this!”

“Sherry, _please_ ,” he entreated, and realized how exhausted he felt. It was almost time for another shot...

Wesker clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to grind them together. Why was it that whenever Sherry got angry at him these days, he had the sensation that he was bleeding?

 _All she wants is to know the truth_ , he reminded himself. Perhaps it was all she'd ever wanted from him. _She came back to me, and I still did not give it to her._

“Listen,” Sherry said, dropping her voice. “I can do more here than make nice with the townies. Let me help you. And to do that, I've got to _know_ , Al.”

Wesker had told himself that he would finally reveal all when things was closer to completion, but that was a still a year off. Maybe, if he conceded to her now, things could finally thaw between them. He imagined Sherry by his side again, the way her hair felt between his fingers.

There were only two people like them in the world; Wesker knew that now. The boy was a disappointment, weak and crude and lacking anything resembling ambition. Wesker was sure he was his son, but the resemblance, and his interest, has stopped there.

_Only we can do what needs to be done._

“Very well, chatelaine,” Wesker said, rising from his seat.

 

The drive out past the oil fields was a long one. The Tricell commando drove too fast over the bumpy road and Sherry was starting to feel carsick. She unwrapped the blue scarf from her neck and held it against her mouth and nose, hoping that filtering all the dust in the air might help a little bit.

She stared at the back of Wesker's head in the passenger seat for a while, then called out, “How much further?”

“Not much,” Wesker replied, then after a few minutes added, “Ah, you see!”

She did not see a thing beyond clouds of yellow dust, but the jeep came to a halt anyway. Sherry opened her own door, grateful to be on solid ground again. She took a moment to assess the rocky landscape. It was mid-day and the sun was beating down overhead, making it almost too bright to see. Then she noticed the crumbled stone archway in the distance.

 

“How long was all of this hidden down here?” she asked Wesker as the industrial elevator whisked them below the earth. He'd led her on a guarded path through the ruins, to a hidden entrance that spoke of much more modern origins.

“Umbrella established a secret research facility here in the 60's,” he said, fiddling with his sunglasses. “It was shut down after the Raccoon City outbreak and all but forgotten. But I knew of it, of course, and Excella and I reopened and expanded it. About 20 researchers live and work here now.”

The elevator stopped and the double doors opened onto a darkened corridor. A blast of chilled air rushed to greet them. Sherry pulled in a long breath of it, steeling herself for whatever was waiting on the other end.

“And what does the rest of Tricell think is going on out here?” she asked as they began to walk.

“Most of the company doesn't know,” Wesker replied nonchalantly. “But the board had been told that we are conducting cutting-edge AIDS research and we did not want to make it public because of the high risk of failure.”

They came to a metal door and Wesker began punching in a code on the nearby security panel. Sherry heard the sound of a lock opening. A light above the door turned green. She looked up at it and felt her mouth go dry.

“What's down here, Al?”

He turned and grinned down at her. “This is where Uroboros lives,” Wesker said. “Among other things.”

 

The woman in the white hospital gown sat stock-still in the metal chair. She reminded Sherry of a statue of an Egyptian goddess. Her back was straight and the palms of her hands rested on her thighs. She stared ahead into nothing, a vacant look on her pallid, worn face.

Sherry knew who the woman was, though Jill Valentine had undergone a startling transformation since that night on Normandy's stormy coast. Her body had healed, but Sherry thought she somehow looked more inhuman now than if she'd stayed mangled. Jill's skin was papery white and her stringy hair was platinum blond, though Sherry recalled it was once much darker.

“Sir, we're afraid the subject is still resisting,” said a scientist Sherry recognized from the lab outside Zurich. He handed Wesker a clipboard with a small stack of papers attached. The room was dim, but he flipped through them without taking off his sunglasses.

After a few minutes, he handed the clipboard back. “Increase the P30 dosage. Let's see what 40 milligrams does.”

The scientist nodded, then looked at Sherry. She wondered if he was surprised to see her here.

“I'll just be a moment,” Wesker said as he walked across the room to where Jill was seated next to a metal table. But he did not sit down in one of the table's empty chairs. Instead he leaned over Jill until his face was within a few feet of hers. If Jill saw him, she did not show it.

“Jill was infected with the T-virus during the Raccoon City outbreak,” Wesker said without looking away from Jill's blank face, though Sherry knew he was speaking to her. “Not unlike you, she was administered a vaccine, but the virus remained dormant in her body. It did some very interesting things...very interesting indeed.” Now he frowned at Jill's frozen features. “Who are you?” Wesker asked her.

No reply. Jill's wan lips remained pressed together.

“Who. Are. You?” he said again, accenting each word with sternness.

“Jill,” she answered this time, and Sherry had to strain to hear the woman's weak voice, which was flat and devoid of any inflection, any normalcy. “Jill Valentine.”

Wesker's upper lip curled. “You are no one. You listen to me and me only.” He waited a beat before asking one more time, “Who are you?”

“I don't...” Jill's eyes flicked up to Wesker's face this time. Sherry held her breath. “No one. I'm no one,” Jill said, and Wesker smiled.

 

“We need to devise a way to deliver a continuous dose of P30 into her bloodstream,” Wesker told the scientist was he and Sherry left the room. “Something like an insulin pump. Have your team figure it out.”

The door slid shut behind them and they were back in the observation chamber with a one-way mirror that looked out onto the room where Jill still sat, moving and unblinking. Before Wesker could reach the door that emptied on the hallway, Sherry grabbed his coat sleeve and stopped him.

“What the hell happened back there?” she demanded. “What are you going to do with her?”

“ _Do_?” Wesker's voice took on the mocking tone she so deplored. “Chatelaine, I saved the poor woman's life. And in return, her blood gave up antibodies that have been very helpful to the Uroboros project.” He cracked a terrifying grin. “I like to think it was Jill's way of thanking me.”

Sherry let go of his arm and stepped back. “You should have let her die,” she hissed. “She would've been better off.” And Sherry meant it, too.

“And pass on the chance for Jill to be useful for a change?” Wesker quipped. “I think not.”

Sherry shuddered as the realization struck her. _This is what he would've done to me. If he'd figured out the virus in my blood sooner, it might've been me sitting in there._

“Let me explain something to you,” Wesker said, clasping his hands in front of him in a way that made Sheryr think of Alex. “Many people have tried to halt my work over the years without ever attempting to truly understand it. The simple, sad truth is...oh, am I boring you, chatelaine?”

Sherry had been staring at him crossly, her arms folded over her chest. “No, by all means, keep talking,” she sneered. “I'm just going to go bang my head against the wall.”

Wesker chuckled and shook his head before taking off his sunglasses. “My goodness. You're lecturing me about _my_ behavior?”

“The irony isn't lost on me,” Sherry shot back.

He tucked his glasses into one of his duster's inner pockets then looked straight at her. “You have a brother of sorts. My son,” Wesker said.

Sherry wobbled on her feet and grabbed at the nearby doorway for balance. She could not help herself.

_Jake. Oh God, you found him._

She clasped her free hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp before she realized it was probably the reaction Wesker had expected.

“Shocking, I know,” he said soothingly. “The boy is some whelp I sired during my wasted youth. I never knew about him until recently and I found him. I thought he might be interested in joining us, but he is hardly worthy—not like you. _Nothing_ like you.” Wesker advanced and put a hand on her shoulder. Sherry did not dare shrug it off. She barely dared to breathe. “I know the truth now,” he went on. “The G-virus is not simply dormant in your body. It is a part of you, as surely as the virus in my blood is a part of me. It melded with your DNA—with your whole being. That is why you can do the things that you do.” His bare hand moved to cup her cheek. It was warmer than she remembered. Sherry exhaled and closed her eyes, letting his sonorous voice wash over her. It felt good, the way she remembered it could feel, and she did not want to fight it. She was so tired of fighting. As long as Jake was safe, where was the harm...?

“I see that now,” Wesker said. “And I need you to listen to me.”

Sherry's eyes snapped over. Of course. It was always something with him.

But his hand was still warm, supporting her weary body with just a touch. She would have to make herself break this spell. Sherry wanted to tell him that his sister had figured out the secret of her blood in mere months while it had taken him years—years and endless denial. She wanted to say something hurtful, to tell him that she'd almost run off with that “whelp,” that she's almost made love to him. Instead, it was Wesker who broke the silence.

“This may all seem odd now, but Jill has a purpose in living. We _all_ have a purpose in this,” he told her. “You will come to understand, I promise. Everyone will understand when they see Uroboros.”

“And then what?” Sherry asked, her voice cracking. “You're going to sell it to the highest bidder?”

“No, chatelaine, I intend to use it.”

 

Excella was waiting for them clad in a white silk blouse, tight safari pants and riding boots. The only things missing were a riding crop and pith helmet. She scowled when Wesker and Sherry got out of the jeep.

“Albert, where _were_ you?” she spluttered as they approached. “Why didn't you pick me up at the airstrip like we planned? I have been waiting here all day and you didn't answer you phone and...and...just _look_ at all these people!” She gestured to a pack of men who were milling around by the clinic. “What on earth is going on!?”

“Excella, I can explain,” Wesker murmured as he led the older woman off by the arm.

 _He's still got it_ , Sherry mused bitterly, but knew she had no time to be annoyed. She recognized several of her miner friends in the waiting group. She saw Sean, too, talking to Robert and Adam. Everyone looked upset.

“What happened?” she called out as she jogged up to them.

“Lion attack,” Robert said gravely.

“We've been looking all over for you!” Adam bellowed, grabbing Sherry by the shoulders. “We thought this new lion was the dead one's buddy and it had come for revenge!”

“ _New_ lion?”

“In broad daylight,” Sean explained. “While the miners were on their morning break. It took two men. We've found one body but not the other.”

“You should not have told that tale last night,” Robert said to her. “It called them.”

“Oh, shut up!” Adam snapped at his coworker. “It was just a story and stories can't hurt you. C'mon, Bob! Where's your head at?”

Robert raised his chin, defiant. “That was no normal lion. We all saw.”

Sherry looked to Sean. “Is that true?”

He nodded. “Yeah, it is. It was... _huge._ ”

She sighed, knowing this was more important than her evidence gathering, and said, “All right, give me a few minutes.”

 

“So you see, the researchers would not start the next phase without my in-person approval,” Wesker explained to Excella. “I had no choice but to ask the bodyguards to pick you up.”

“Well...” Excella began with her usual purr. “So long as it was for the project.”

“Of course. I think of nothing else.”

Excella chortled at this—a deep, throaty sound. Women like her never, ever giggled, Wesker had noticed.

“And your daughter? Is she being helpful?”

“Very,” he said. “She and the clinic are providing our cover story for operating in the region. Now, we should head back.”

They'd walked a ways down the road, along the town's meager outskirts. Hardly a picturesque stroll, but at least Excella had calmed down. Wesker turned neatly on his heel and was about to offer his arm to Excella when a wave of nausea hit him. He doubled over and planted his hands on his knees, gasping for air.

“Albert!” Excella's bird-like hands were flying around his head. “What's wrong?”

Wesker felt sweat streaming down his face and chest, making his shirt sticky and damp. The heat. Only the heat, that was all.

“I just...need a moment,” Wesker murmured.

He'd taken a dose of anti-viral serum before leaving for the lab that morning. But what time was it now? Was it later than he though? How long had the drive back taken?

“I need to...” he gasped. “I have to get back to the clinic. Now.”

 

The crowd of people was gone by the time the two of them limped back to the plain two-story building that housed Tricell's clinic. In fact, no one was around at all. Wesker would've found this odd if he hadn't been in so much pain.

“Inside,” he said to Excella.

“Of course, of course,” she said softly in his ear. Excella had one arm around his back and to be honest, was hardly any help at all.

The main door was ajar—another strange thing Wesker was not in the mood to ponder. They staggered into the clinic's office where, luckily, a spare cot was set up. Wesker collapsed on it and, with what felt like his last reserve of strength, rolled on to his side to face Excella, who looked even more stricken than him.

“The briefcase. The metal one behind that desk,” he panted.

She raced over to the desk and soon held her prize aloft. “This one?” Excella cried out.

“Yes. There are...pre-filled syringes inside.”

Wesker let himself groan while he listened to Excella fumble with the case's claps. Where had Sherry gone to? Why was no one here? No matter—at least his sunglasses were still on.

“Here, Albert!”

With some effort, he turned his head and saw Excella kneeling by his side, a syringe in hand.

“Good, just...inject it in my neck.” He usually injected the serum into his forearm, but he was still wearing his duster and it would take too long for Excella to get it off.

She nodded and without another word, pulled down his collar. Wesker closed his eyes when he felt the cold pinch on the side of his neck. He let out a long, shuddering sigh as Excella withdrew the syringe. Within seconds, his head stopped swimming and the word resettled around him. A close call, but it was over now. For her part, Excella started to sob.

“Now, now, no need for that.” Wesker mustered a grin to show her he was feeling better. “See? Right as rain.”

“But what happened?” she blubbered. “Why did you—?”

Just then, some men came crashing into the clinic. Wesker could see them through the office's open door. Excella opened her mouth to scream, but he put a finger to her lips. Whoever they were, he was still too weak to deal with the.

“Sherry!” one of the men called out. “We're back!”

“Up here! I'm almost ready!” came a muffled reply from the clinic's second floor. So she was here after all. But what was Sherry doing upstairs? There was nothing up there except for storage, sleeping quarters and...

And the gun safe.

Wesker heard footfalls clambering down the staircase in the other room.

“Okay. Sean, Adam, you're with me.” It was Sherry's voice. But this Sean...

Oh yes, the Armand boy. Now Wesker remembered. He'd arrived yesterday on some errand for the Global Pharmaceutical Consortium. Armand left Tricell a few years ago and worked for them now, as Wesker recalled. When this was all over, he'd give the young man the runaround and send him packing.

But for now, he could barely move and Wesker had no choice but to wait while the serum worked to stabilize his body. That could take some time, and until then, he would be as helpless as an infant.

“How many men were you able to bring?” he heard Sherry say.

“Ten others,” a gruff American voice said. “Everybody else is scared stiff, but the guys we rallied all have their own guns. We've got some jeeps, too.”

“Okay, good. Robert, I need you to go to the KAZ soldiers. Tell them what happened and get them to ring the town perimeter with big bonfires. They have to light them now and keep 'em going all night. Maybe that will keep the lions away.”

“Wait, _lions_?” a man he recognized as Armand exclaimed. “With an _s_? As in, there's more than one out there?”

Wesker frowned. He did not like the sound of _that_. He hadn't expected the security animals to slip their collars this easily. They'd be redesigned specifically for the Kijuju mission and tested thoroughly.

“Listen, they're not monsters!” Sherry insisted, her voice full of a confidence that even Wesker found arresting. “They're just sick animals and they _can_ be killed. Anyway, the sun will be going down soon. Come on.”

Footsteps receded. A door slammed. Then, save for the racing beat of his own heart, there was silence.

“You're just going to let her go?” Excella whispered after what felt like an eternity.

“She can...she will be fine,” he breathed, knowing Sherry held a secret within her unassuming body. And more than that, too. Those men were following her— _her_.

It was what he'd wanted for her all along. To be strong. To lead. To be his equal and true heir. And yet, there was no comfort in these revelations, for he'd stumbled upon a new one.

_She does not need me any more._

Excella pulled herself to her feet. “I need to find our guards,” she said frantically. “I need to—”

Wesker reached up and grabbed her wrist. “No, stay.” He could not be alone right now. He _had_ to make her stay. “Sit down and I will tell you everything.”


	23. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

 _ _Walking through the undergrowth__  
To the house in the woods  
The deeper I go, the darker it gets  
I peer through the window  
Knock at the door

  
 _And the monster I was so afraid of_  
Lies curled up on the floor  
Is curled up on the floor, just like a baby boy

_I cry until I laugh_

_\--“Darkness,” Peter Gabriel_

* * *

 

“Don't stop! Just keep going straight ahead!” Sherry shouted at Adam, who was driving the jeep along a dirt road that led deep into the grasslands. She was standing up in the vehicle's back seat, clutching the roll cage's crossbar and taking every jostle and bump with rattling teeth as she tried to scan the horizon. They were heading west into the blazing red-gold sunset, but the grasslands around them were already fading into a dark, dangerous blur. Adam switched on the jeep's headlights, which did not illuminate much beyond the immediate road ahead. It felt like they were going into a tunnel, one whose end could not be seen. And yet...

_We can't stop._

They were at the head of the little convoy and the men behind them were relying on her to know where they were going, to know the best place to lie in wait for the lions—or to draw them out.

It didn't matter that she was exhausted or hungry or probably hadn't brought enough water or ammo with her. It didn't matter that her legs were still shaking from what she'd seen in the lab that morning or that her face still felt hot from where Wesker had touched it.

_I can't stop now._

“Here,” Sherry heard herself say, then raised her voice over the din of the road. “Adam, stop the car! Kill the engine!”

“What? You sure?” he called back.

“Yes, now!”

Sherry saw Adam jerk the steering wheel to the right and the jeep veered to the edge of the narrow road. The road's surface was nothing more than pebbles and they came to a jerky, dusty halt. Sherry was thrown against the jeep's cross bar. It almost knocked the wind out of her and she gasped out a cry.

_Stop it. You've been through worse._

“You okay?” Sean called up to her.

“Never been better.” Sherry pushed the sweaty hair out of her face and hopped down to the ground. The three other vehicles were soon stopped behind them. There was a flurry of activity behind her as men commiserated, checked their weapons and distributed gear for the long night ahead. But Sherry was suddenly heedless of it all. She walked to the dirt road's shoulder. Here civilization ended and something else began. Sherry only realized she'd been staring off into the pitch-dark grassland when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Uhh, so what now?” That was Adam.

She turned and saw the men staring at her, and felt their own fear slice through her.

“Oh,” Sherry said under her breath. In the flickering artificial glow of flashlights and lanterns, they looked like a search party of ghosts. They were waiting. They were waiting for the lion-killer girl to tell them what to do. No one else was in charge. Wesker was far away, probably being cooed over by Excella. Claire and Leon had abandoned her. Krauser, Carlos, Ada and Alex had left her their lessons, but little else. Jake was beyond her reach. Her parents were dead.

She was alone. She was alone and there was only one thing to do.

Sherry took a deep breath and smelled the baked earth, still cooling down from the day. Then she smelled blood and realized some of the men had hauled fresh goat meat along. Perfect. They'd brought bait. She began to speak.

“Alright, we're doing this in teams,” she said. “Split up the bait amongst yourselves. Find trees, boulders—any other safe positions to wait on. There are still four of those lions out there, and they're looking for people to attack. But remember: they _can_ be killed. We've got more than enough firepower to make that happen.” She pointed to the first cluster of me standing to the left. “You three, keep following the road west.” Then she divvied up the rest of the group, giving them each a direction to go in. Radios were checked and heads nodded in agreement. “Shoot anything that moves. And I mean _anything_. Good luck,” Sherry said before unholstering her own pistol and motioning for Sean and Adam to follow her.

* * *

“Do we stop here?” Sean whispered once they'd been following the footpath for a while.

“I don't...I'm not sure.” Sherry furrowed her brow as she swung her flashlight to and fro. Where were the lions? Why weren't they being drawn to the scent of goat blood?

“You've _said_ that already,” Adam groaned at her, a bit too loudly. “Miss confident

“Let's stop here,” Sean said. “No point in going further. We're just moving targets now, anyway.”

“Whadaya mean, stop here? Do ya see any trees we can climb?” Adam whined at Sean. “Moving targets? We're just plain targets!”

“I can't _see_ a damn _thing_ because it's the middle of the night!” Sean snapped back, turning the beam of his flashlight on the other man.

Sherry whirled on them. “Stop it!” she hissed, though all authority was gone from her voice. She was frustrated. She was getting scared.

They'd been trudging through the dead-quiet savannah for nearly an hour while Sherry hunted for a sign—a gunshot, a growl, a rusting in the grass that was not the wind. But so far she'd heard nothing, felt nothing. And the other teams had checked in a few times on the radio to report...nothing. Had the lions moved on? Were they hunkered down somewhere in the bush, avoiding the hunting parties? She'd led these men out here, put their lives at risk and now the lions didn't even have the decency to show up.

 _Some leader I turned out to be. Those damn animals are making a fool out of me._ Sherry gritted her teeth and shook the notion from her mind. Was that even possible? No, of course not. The lions were not _that_ intelligent.

_Besides, they don't even know who I am._

Sherry stopped in her tracks just as Sean hissed “This is pointless,” behind her. She stared towards a horizon she knew was somewhere out there in the blackness.

“What is it? Is it one of those things?” Adam whispered to her, worried. But she could not answer. The solution had struck her in the face like the flat of a hand.

 _They need to know who I am_. Suddenly, Sherry was not standing in the African grasslands with the day's sweat still clinging to her skin. She was back in a snowy woodland clearing.

_Who I am..._

“Sherry?” Adam's big hand was on her shoulder. “What's wrong?”

She turned to look at him, oddly grateful that it was too dark for Adam to see her face clearly. “We're stopping here. I need you two to stand over there.” Sherry gestured with her flashlight to a spot some ten paces off. “Stand there and no matter what happens, no matter what you see, don't do _anything_.”

There was silence between the three of them for a moment. The men hadn't expected her to say _that_. Sherry held her breath and waited. Would they listen to her? Was this a bridge too far?

Adam started to stammer his protest. “But...what? We can't—”

It was Sean who came up to lead Adam away. “Okay, whatever you say,” he told her. Sean leveled his flashlight in Sherry's direction and she saw him nod. “I trust you,” he said. “Do whatever you're going to do.”

“Really?” Adam was still astonished. He looked from Sherry to Sean then back again and let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine, whatever! All this walking around isn't working anyway. But don't think I'm putting this down.” He patted his hunting rifle's butt as he followed Sean's lead and ambled away from Sherry's side. “And I sure as hell ain't going to stand here in the dark either.”

Sherry heard a dull click and the camping lantern Adam had brought with them flooded the path with yellowish light, illuminating the tall grass around her with a harsh, unearthly glow. It was welcome, though. The night was overcast and she'd need the extra light soon enough.

“We're right here if you need us,” Sean said, but his voice already sounded distant. She turned back to the dark void of grassland and walked further down the path before she knelt down on both knees on the dirt. She closed her eyes and pressed her palms together in front of her face—an act of concentration, not prayer. Surely the lions were no different than other infected animals she'd encountered in the past. This would work. She knew it would work.

_But why does Sean trust me? Why did he come out here with us, knowing the danger?_

There'd been no time to contemplate such things earlier. She'd needed a posse and he'd been willing to help. But then they'd ended up in the same jeep, and now in the same hunting party. That was how Sean had always been, casually showing up at the oddest moments. At the _right_ moments.

 _Why am_ I _trusting_ him _?_

She was tempted to dismiss her doubts and tell herself that Sean still had feelings for her. He was only here to protect her. But could that really be true after all these years? Again, Sherry wondered how much Sean knew, how much he'd always known. She resolved to ask him when the night was over. No point in discretion now, considering what he was about to see.

“Remember, whatever happens, do not move. Don't do a thing,” Sherry called back to the men, forcing her voice to be calm and even. “And don't tell anybody about what you're about to see. Not another soul.” She needed to make sure they understood that last part especially.

“So I can't put this on my blog?” she heard Adam say. Sean shushed him, and then there was nothing but the sound of insects chirping away in the grass.

Sherry drew in a deep breath and began to _reach_. She let her mind wander backwards and forwards and all around. She sat at a grand piano in a wood-paneled room fit for royalty. She stood in a sun-soaked mountain clearing, shooting at paper targets with a handgun. She was sitting in bed watching a man— _her_ man, she'd once thought—get dressed. She was waiting, plotting, drumming her fingers on a glass desktop, staring daggers at Excella's back. Then she was running—running headlong into another game, another trap. Alex had offered her power, but that madwoman had intended to make her into just another pawn.

Sherry furrowed her brow at the memories. Too many lives, too many selves. Sherry Birkin, Sherry Trevor, Sherry Wesker. She'd never been able to choose just one, never been _allowed_ to.

_Not now. Push it away._

She refocused on the sounds of the night, the hum of insects and the scent of the baked earth and the gentle rustle of long grass all around her. It was just a breeze...for now. Sherry let out the breath she'd been holding and reached again. Time slowed and the night became formless, like it might go on forever. Softly, very softly, she began to sing the English lyrics to _Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring._ The song, the act of singing, wasn't needed to draw the animals. It was her and her alone. She knew that now. But it somehow felt right.

Behind her, Adam wondered aloud, “What the hell is she doing?” But Sherry ignored him.

_Holy wisdom, love most bright._

Everything felt like it was slowing down, even her own heartbeat. How much time was passing? Had it been minutes or hours since she'd knelt down on this narrow path? Images swam unbidden under Sherry's closed eyelids. She saw Wesker sitting on the edge of a cot and speaking to Excella, who was transfixed by what she heard. He was spinning out a tale to her, living ghost story that he was.

_Drawn by Thee, our souls aspiring...Soar to uncreated light._

Then Sherry saw a young man with stubbly red hair wave his friends on ahead so he could duck into a bookstore. There was a horrifying scar on his face that made people stare at him sometimes. Sherry tried to reach out to him, wanting to lay a loving hand on that scar.

_With the fire of life impassioned!_

Hot air blew against her face. The stink of rot and carrion hit her nostrils.

_Striving still to truth unknown..._

On another plane of existence, someone was saying, “Holy shit. Oh my God. Holy _shit_ ,” over and over again.

Sherry opened her eyes but did not gasp when she saw the lion's bloodied muzzle just inches from her face. She leaned back on her own haunches to take the creature in. It _was_ huge, bigger than any lion she'd ever seen in a zoo. In the lantern's unnatural light, the animal did not seem real. Its eyes glowed red and its mane, which marked it as a male, was very dark and full. This was a parody of a lion, someone's warped idea of what lions were supposed to look like. Only the awful stench proved that this was an earthly thing and not a nightmare. The red stain around the lion's mouth looked crusty. Perhaps it was old blood, from a kill it made days ago. For the sake of the other men out in the grasslands tonight, Sherry hoped that was true.

_Truth unknown._

The song's lyric replayed through her mind as she stared at the lion. Sherry cocked her head at the creature and with a loud groan, it lurched forward and nuzzled at the side of her face, leaving a smear of gore on her cheek. She rolled her eyes and sighed. She'd been through this too many times to be frightened by a little bit of blood.

“I know, I know,” she whispered to the creature. Another low groan escaped the lion, more plaintive this time. It was in pain. It was rotting from the inside out because of the things that had been done to it. It was not evil, but the lion had been warped and changed, its very cells perverted, to make it do evil things. Still, Sherry knew she was the only one here tonight who felt sympathy for the animal.

“We gotta shoot it! It's gonna...gonna...” Adam spluttered behind her, close to panicking.

“Stay calm, man. Stay calm!” Sean certainly didn't sound calm. She'd have to make this quick before one of the men did something rash. And yet, the lyrics still nagged at her.

_Truth unknown...an unknown truth._

This creature needed her. The men standing behind her needed her, too, but in a very different way. And there it was: Both things. Human and monster. Sherry and the Red Princess. The awful battle that had waged inside her for years ceased with the suddenness of the sun coming out after a long rainstorm.

She was both. At long last, she could admit to herself.

Sherry got to her feet—slowly, more for the men's benefit than her own. And just as slowly, she backed away from the lion, but never broke eye contact.

“Stay, boy.” And the lion listened to her.

“Holy shit,” Adam breathed. “Hol-eee _shit_.” Sherry stopped herself from smiling at that.

Power. The lesson Alex had tried so hard to teach her. The madwoman had offered Sherry an army, to make a world that was for people like them, and like the creature before her. A world of justice, Alex had said.

It was all folly, disgusting folly. Still, Sherry knew that even now, she had a choice: life or death. With just a thought, she could make the the lion attack Sean and Adam. She was all that stood between them and oblivion.

_And that is why they all want me, isn't it?_

Umbrella's dregs, Alex and the Organization, Wesker, even the U.S. Government if they ever got their hands on her. They wanted her gift.

And each in their own way assumed she'd go merrily along with whatever they said. They thought she was just a sad, pliant child who only wanted to be led out of the woods—it didn't matter in which direction. But it did. Oh, it did.

And no one could tell her what to do with a gift.

“On my signal,” Sherry whispered to the men by her side. “Aim for the head.”

The Red Princess leveled her pistol, aimed and made her choice.

* * *

 

“Huh? What?” Sherry rolled over on the cot to face the figure standing in the doorway. She'd only been asleep a few hours and her mind was a haze. “Al, that you?” she said to the shadow.

“No, quite the opposite,” Excella said as she walked into the room and close the door behind her. “He's still at the research facility.”

Sherry forced herself to sit up and swing her legs over the side of the cot. She was back in the clinic, in the second floor room she'd called home since coming to Kijuju. And this was where she'd collapsed at dawn after returning from the hunt. Two lion carcasses has burned the night before—the one she, Adam and Sean had killed, an another that one of the other hunting parties had managed to track down an kill.

That meant two infected lions were still out there...

“I thought this would be an excellent time for us to have a little chat,” Excella said as she pulled up a plastic chair.

“Time...? Oh, what time is it?” Sherry asked, burying her head in her hands. She felt tired, sick to her stomach, and not at all in the mood for this.

“Eight in the morning,” the older woman said. Excella was seated just feet from her now, leaning over and grinning. Sherry parted her fingers to see Excella's coral-colored blouse, her perfectly coiled hair and the touch of makeup that made the beautiful ravishing.

“What do you want?” Sherry groaned as she reached for the wristwatch sitting on the shipping crate that had become her makeshift bedside table. Excella was right about the time. That meant she'd only snatched two hours of sleep since getting back to town.

“You've been trying to sabotage me for years,” Excella said without preamble.

Sherry stared at the older woman for a moment. This was not the way this conversation was supposed to happen. She'd imagined it countless ways over the years, but always pictured it taking place after Excella's fall. But here and now, on the second floor of a ramshackle medical clinic, with the yellow African sunlight streaming through the window? It was almost banal. No, Sherry had never planned on this.

_Well, no time like the present._

Sherry made herself sit up straight. “How did you find out?” she asked.

“There are still a few secrets I need to hold on to,” Excella quipped. Sherry felt a hint of the old anger ignite. Someone had betrayed her—just as she'd always suspected.

“'Sabotage' isn't the word I'd use. More like I've been trying to stop you,” she admitted tersely, then added, “At least tell me why you sold me out.”

Excella glared at her as if the answer were perfectly obvious. “You were a distraction to us—to Albert and I. But in very different ways,” she said cheerfully. “Oh yes, I've known the truth for a long time, my dear. A man would never forgive someone for hurting his own flesh and blood. But a girl who's just a plaything? Well, those come and go,” she sniffed. “I saw my chance and I took it. There was a bit of self-preservation involved, as well. You were close to ruining everything for us.” She shook her lovely head. “I'm embarrassed for you, my dear. You barely covered your tracks. Did you learn nothing from me at all?” Excella chided.

The older woman was provoking her, and Sherry felt it working, felt the heat rising within her. Something had happened while Sherry had been out in the grasslands, and Excella was here to gloat about it. Sherry crumpled the cot's thin sheet in her hands, imagining the rising rage leaving her body through her fingertips. She wasn't about to give Excella the satisfaction of rattling her. Besides, she had a promise to keep to Alex—no, a promise to Jake.

She raised her chin to look Excella in the eye. “When did you know?” Sherry said calmly.

“Remember that night in the forest? When those dogs escaped and we went to hunt them down?”

_I should have killed you then._

Sherry inclined her head, careful to hold eye contact with Excella. “You saw what I could do.”

“Yes, and when we brought you back to the lab, I eavesdropped on your conversation with Albert. I heard you say that your father was dead and that Albert was all you had left. Then it all made sense to me.” Excella crossed her legs, leaning back in the ugly plastic chair, the veritable cat who'd caught the canary. Sherry frowned, but not at the smug woman before her. She was plumbing the depths of her memory, recalling her time in that wretched glass cell, the angry words she'd exchanged with Wesker...and that sound she'd heard in the corridor. The echo that could've been footsteps _were_ footsteps. Excella had heard everything that night. She'd know their secret for years.

“I began to contact, shall we say, certain people in certain circles,” Excella went on. “I discovered that Albert never had a daughter, but there was a girl who'd survived the Raccoon City outbreak then gone missing—a girl who sounded very much like you. As it turned out, there were people who'd pay handsomely to find that girl.” She paused to flash a triumphant grin at Sherry. “I tucked that knowledge away. I had only to wait for the right moment to use it. You handed me that moment when you tried to betray Albert and I.”

Now Sherry directed her scowl at Excella. “You. I was only after you.”

But it didn't matter any more. Excella had always been one step ahead. And now she'd won.

 _But won what?_ Wesker was not the same man he'd been just a few years ago. He'd changed. They'd both changed.

“What happened while I was gone last night?” Sherry said.

“He told me everything,” the older woman replied with shrug. “Everything about himself, his plans. And now we are true partners.” Suddenly, Excella sprang out of her chair. She stood over Sherry, her face contorted by a wide, cruel grin. “You fooled me at the beginning, but not any more. You're just his pet—not that I can blame him. Girls your age do anything you're told to in bed. And men think that's what they want, until they've had a real woman,” she said contemptuously. “Trust me, I'll make him see the light.” Excella sighed and clicked her tongue. “My dear, what has become of you? You'll never hold a man's attention looking that way. Dust-covered, unwashed. And is that blood on your face?”

“Don't worry,” Sherry told her. “I still have plenty of cute dresses. I'll wear one to your funeral.”

Excella cocked one perfect eyebrow at her. “Hmm. Charming. Well, I must be off,” she said breezily. And with that, Excella sidestepped the chair and began to head for the door.

All at once, Sherry's anger was replaced by confusion—confusion and dread. If Wesker had truly told her everything, why wasn't Excella repulsed? Just what kind of woman was she? _A woman I underestimated on all fronts._ But if she couldn't draw blood, Sherry at least wanted to inflict pain another way.

“What about Carlos?” Sherry called to Excella's back. It was a desperate stab, and she half-knew it would miss.

“Carlos?” Excella stopped and turned to roll her eyes at Sherry. “My dear, that was _years_ ago. He wanted to marry me, poor thing. A shame he wasn't on my level.” Excella's hand was on the doorknob, and she was about to slip from Sherry's own grasp forever. All the years of hatred and subterfuge, all the fantasies about the other woman's bloody death...And now, Sherry only felt tired. But there was one more thing she needed to know.

“So what are you going to do with my fath—I mean, with Al?”

“Lead him to our destiny,” Excella said. Then, right before she walked out the door, she brusquely added, “A destiny that does not include you.”

* * *

 

“Why did you tell her?”

“Tell who what now?” Wesker reluctantly glanced up from the microscope he'd been bent over and shot Sherry a puzzled look. “How did you get here?”

“I drove. In a jeep. You know, vroom-vroom? And you gave me access to the lab, remember?” She brandished the key card before putting it back in her pocket.

Wesker straightened himself to his full height and smoothed the front of his white lab coat with his palms. His eyes were uncovered and as red as she'd ever seen them, pulsating ruby irises on bloodshot whites. “So you came all the way just to yell at me?” he said dryly.

Sherry sighed and made herself calm down. “Can we talk here?” She glanced around the room full of metal work benches and medical equipment, one of many such chambers in the underground lab.

“Of course. We're alone.”

Sherry folded her arms in the defensive way she often did when she sensed they were on the verge of an argument. “It's about Excella,” she said.

Wesker raised a white-blond eyebrow. “When is it not?”

“I'm serious!” Sherry burst out, then collected herself with a sigh. “Listen: Excella paid me a little visit this morning to gloat about some conversation you two had. She said you told her things...” Sherry felt a lump rise in her throat as she remembered the long-ago night when Wesker had confessed his whole terrible past to her. As awful as it was, it had still been _their_ moment, _their_ secret. And now he'd shared it with Excella of all people. “Why did you do it?” Sherry asked quietly, suddenly feeling utterly depleted, like she wanted to cry or eat a pint in ice cream or just sleep for 12 hours straight.

Wesker regarded her for a moment, then turned back to his microscope. “I needed someone on my side,” he said as he adjusted the dials. “It was time to end the dance. From here on out, she must trust me completely.”

“I thought _I_ was on your side.” It had been true, once. Sherry felt and old pain welling up inside her as she spoke. “Did you tell her about us?”

Wesker's eyes swiveled away from whatever he was peering at on the microscope's slide. “No. I told her that you were my dead friend’s daughter and I adopted you.”

So he'd kept one secret at least. Sherry allowed herself a little sigh of relief and rested her hand against the cold metal table at her side. It was a reflex, to steady herself for what what coming next.

“But she _knows_ , Al.” His head shot up at that. “She figured it out on her own,” Sherry said before he could interject.

_She knows. She knows and she still wants you._

“Well, that is...” Wesker turned to face her, picked up a pair of sunglasses sitting on the metal lab bench, fondled them but did not put them on. “She said nothing about—”

“Of _course_ she didn't say anything! Why would she?” Sherry shouted at him. The echo of her voice rang in the huge chamber and Sherry fancied she saw the horror of realization dawn on Wesker's face. Coldly, she went on. “You said you need Excella to trust you. Butcan _you_ trust _her_?” Wesker didn't give an answer, but she hadn't expected one. “Excella was the one who sold me out to your sister,” Sherry said firmly. “She admitted it to me.”

Wesker waved a hand in front of his face and snapped his eyes shut. “Don't speak of that woman.” He always reacted that way when she mentioned Alex. It was as if he couldn't even stand the thought of this unknown quantity, both Spencer's secret favorite and his own lost sibling. Then he was staring at Sherry again, his fires blazing high as ever. “Let me deal with Excella in my own way,” Wesker growled.

“Oh, the same way you dealt with your rouge security system?”

He sneered at her, flashing clenched teeth. That had gotten a rise. “Are you implying I'm incompetent?”

“No, I'm implying that you just don't care,” Sherry retorted. “If I'd been double-crossed by anyone else besides Excella, literally _anyone_ else, you would've killed them a long time ago.”

Wesker inclined his head, which was leonine in its own way. “Without a doubt,” he said. “But let's not forget you played a rather active role in that farce, too.”

The reprimand stung, and Sherry sucked in a breath to counter the sudden pang in her chest. _I should have expected that_. Wesker was referring to her meeting with Chris Redfield and ill-fated attempt to implicate Excella in Tricell's bio-warfare dabblings. _And my attempt to get you out of this mess, Al._

“It's so nice that we both have mistakes to rub in each other's faces,” Sherry told him tersely. “But I came here to talk about Excella. She's really in love with you, you know.” She paused and with downcast eyes, Sherry took a deep breath and let herself ask the thing she wanted to know more than anything else. “But how do you feel about her?”

Sherry looked up when she did not get an answer. Wesker was staring at her with a frown on his face. “Yes, perhaps that's how she likes to label her ambitions, but that word does not exist for people like us,” he said flatly. “She thinks I can give her power. If she's confusing that notion with some other emotion, I'm not about to correct her.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

“Very well, chatelaine. I feel...” The corners of Wesker's mouth twitched into a smirk. “I feel that she is of use to me.”

Sherry clenched her hands into fists and she felt a fresh barb poised on her tongue... But that was probably just what Wesker wanted. He was baiting her, trying to pull her in with the threat of being replaced once and for all. And a part of Sherry did want to ask if he still kept the promise he'd made to her years ago, at a moment when their bodies and minds were joined. That same part of her wanted to do more than even that.

_Throw myself at him? No, I won't give him the satisfaction._

They stared at each other in silence, waiting for the other to move, to speak, to break. The only sound was the soft mechanical whir of the mysterious machines that littered the room.

Then Wesker cleared his throat and glanced at his metal workbench. “I'm afraid I must get back to work. Would you mind seeing yourself out?” He swept towards her and put a hand on Sherry's shoulder, turning her around with a light touch and began to walk her towards the door. But as his hand moved to her back, Sherry did not feel the old flare of desire at the base of her spine. She only felt cold.

“I'm worried about you, Al,” she said glumly.

“Whatever for?” He almost sounded cheerful. “I'm not dead yet, chatelaine,” Wesker said. Then, as he ushered her out of the chamber, he added, “Well, parts of me are.”

* * *

Sherry walked down the low-lit corridor that lead back to the elevator that would return her to the land of the living. She'd been in this underworld, her parents' world, for so long. It wasn't this one lab; it was many places. The underworld was all around her, made up of parties full of prying eyes, plush hotel suites, unassuming offices and, yes, other covert laboratories like this one. She'd stepped into this world willingly all those years ago, pushed by lusts: lust for power, for knowledge, for carnal connection with the only man in the world who seemed to understand her. Was it even possible to just walk away?

What had Alex called her that night on the plane? Persephone? According to the old myth, not even a goddess could escape the underworld for more than a few months at a time.

And now that Sherry had made her choice, would that be the Red Princess' fate? Would she get sucked back in again and again?

“Just leave her. She's not going anywhere.”

The voice was just ahead of her. Sherry instinctively slid into the shadow of a doorway, just as Jack had taught her. She peeked around the corner and saw a man and a woman, both in white lab coats, leaving a room just off the corridor. It was the woman's voice she'd heard.

“Are you sure?” the male scientist said to his colleague.

“Yeah, she only moves when Dr. Wesker tells her to. We won't be gone long,” she reassured him.

They began to walk in the other direction, away from where Sherry was hiding, perhaps going to a break room or to retrieve some equipment. When their conversation had faded to indistinct echoes, Sherry darted across the corridor and into the room the scientist had come from, pulled by an urge as strong as anything she'd ever felt while in her former lover's arms. The door was unlocked. She knew who she'd find inside.

In the middle of a white tiled room, a figure was seated in a metal chair. Clad only in a pale green hospital gown, a woman had her back turned to the door. Long blond hair fell down her back. Sherry did not have to look the woman in the face to know that her eyes were staring blankly at the wall.

Sherry slowly approached and bent over so her lips were level with the woman's right ear. She smelled of disinfectant and stale air.

“I cannot help you now,” Sherry said softly to Jill. “Wesker is still in control.” Jill did not budge. She was a human statue. Sherry could not even hear the other woman breathing.

 _Does she hear me?_ Sherry closed her eyes to concentrate. Jill was not an infected animal, but Umbrella's viruses had warped her all the same. She and Sherry were cut from the same cloth. _No, more like we're scarred in the same places._

“But a chance will come,” she whispered to Jill. “It _must_ come. It's been so long...for both of us. When the time is right, remember who you.”

She started when she thought she heard voices somewhere down the corridor. Sherry bent down once more. “I'm sorry, I have to go.” Sherry felt her pulse quicken with panic. There was no other choice, but she still felt like she was abandoning Jill. Sherry needed to leave her with something—something stronger than whatever had turned her into a living mannequin. But what? What was stronger than hell?

Apropos of nothing, Sherry suddenly realized how cold it was in the room. She hadn't felt a chill like this since the night on that little balcony in Frankfurt...

Then Sherry knew exactly what was stronger, and spoke into Jill's pale ear. The Red Princess spoke. She spoke to the hurt, to the loss, to a fellow woman who was trapped in the underworld. “When the time is right, remember this one thing: 'Behold, a god more powerful than I who, coming, will rule over me.'”

* * *

Morale was running high that evening. Sherry told the group who'd assembled at the clinic that there were only two killer lions left, which elicited a few hoots and cheers. More of Kijuju's menfolk had turned out tonight, heartened by the previous hunt's success.

Sean did a headcount. “We can do teams of four this time,” he told Adam.

“Good idea.” The older man nodded as they holstered their pistols. “I don't claim to know much about lions, 'specially not lions like these ones. But the two out there...” Adam paused to gaze out into the vast grassland that began on the other side of the dirt road. “Well, if I were them, I'd be scared angry right now. _Really_ angry.”

* * *

 

Adam took the wheel again, with Sean riding shotgun. Sherry and Robert shared the jeep's backseat. But before Adam put the jeep in gear, he turned to Sherry and said, “Uhh, where exactly are we heading?”

“I heard some miners thought they spotted a lion today,” Sean piped up. “By some ravine outside of town.”

“Oh, you mean the pit at the old mine?” Adam asked.

“That mine was abandoned after a bad accident,” Robert said solemnly. “Sometimes we go there to salvage machine parts, but nothing more.”

“Maybe the lion are draggin' some-a their victims out there,” Adam wondered aloud.

Sherry nodded at Sean. “Sounds like we should check it out.”

* * *

 

“Let's split up and cover more ground,” Sean suggested when they arrived at the old mine's site. The sun was still blazing away as it descended in the western sky. They had maybe an hour of light left, which was good, because the land around the boarded-up mineshaft was craggy and littered with boulders and abandoned mining equipment. Even with a flashlight, it would be easy to stumble and fall once it got dark.

While the men chatted, Sherry went to examine the old mine's entrance. It was sturdily boarded up with no signs of disturbance. If the lions had made a den around here, it wasn't in the mineshaft.

Someone cleared their throat beside her. Sherry turned to see Adam. “I didn't tell nobody about what really happened last night,” he said, sounding bashful. “Sean didn't either. But if that's what it takes to catch 'em, then you gotta do that...that thing again.”

“I intend to,” Sherry told him. “I'll take Sean with me when we split up. Which way to that ravine?”

* * *

 

Sherry walked along a path that was cut into the rock. Sean was behind her.

“You can, uhh, sense them, is that it?” he queried.

“Something like that,” she told him, hoping the curt edge in her voice would stymy any more questions.

The emerged onto a flat rock outcropping that was only wide enough to accommodate two or three people. Beyond that, the ground dropped off and a cragged gulch yawned before them. A few scraggly trees sprouted from the rocks, but the landscape was otherwise barren. Perhaps a stream had once run along the ravine's bottom, but there was certainly no water there now.

“Eesh,” Sean grimaced as he looked over the edge. “That's a good twenty foot drop. Be careful.”

Sherry peered down into the dusty ravine, which was illuminated by the setting sun at one end. She didn't see any signs of remains, animal or human.

“What were miners doing poking around out here?” she said. “It's pretty out of the way.”

Sean pointed to a narrow ledge that hugged the ravine's side. It looked like a path. It wound around a curve in the canyon's wall and Sherry could not see what was beyond it. “Maybe they were walking along there?” he suggested.

“Maybe.” Sherry shrugged. “Let's see where it goes.”

She took point and began to pick her way along the ledge trail, keeping close to the wall. She heard Sean's cautious steps keeping pace behind her. Just as they reached the curve in the rock face, Sherry heard a metallic click behind her. She stopped and turned slowly to face Sean.

“Keep walking,” he said, gesturing with the handgun he'd trained on her chest. “The chopper's waiting on the plateau at the end of this trail.”

Sherry said nothing at first. She felt a strange calm settle over her. “You lured me out here,” she told him after a long moment.

“Don't tell me you're surprised,” Sean snorted.

Sherry's old training kicked in and her eyes flicked down to the precipitous drop below the little path. No escape route there. She could draw her own pistol, but Sean would undoubtedly fire first. And if she tried to push him over the edge, he might take her with him. So the only option was to buy time.

“Who are you?” she asked him.

Sean smiled at that. “Just plain old me,” he quipped. “Sean Armand, doing what I do.”

Sherry decided to raise her hands to convince him she was surrendering. “So the Consortium sent you to spy on Tricell. I get that part. But how'd you get mixed up with Alex?”

“Eh, I guess you're going to hear it all eventually,” he said with a shrug. “I'm not 'mixed up' with Alex. I'm mixed up with everybody _she's_ mixed up with. Her Organization is just one player in the game. And they find people like me to be very useful.”

“So you double-crossed the Consortium?”

“Nah, they're the ones waiting for us right now.” Sean nodded towards the trail behind Sherry. “I just do freelance work on the side. Like this one time a few years ago...” He broke into a wolfish smile. “Excella saw how close you and I were. She came to me one day, told me she'd figured out I was a Consortium plant. In exchange for not blowing my cover, she asked me a favor.”

“Favor?” Sherry blinked as disparate puzzle pieces locked together in her mind, finding their places at long last. “That day in London...” The words caught in her throat like dust.

“Yup!” Sean chirped. “I lead you into that ambush. Of course you so _rudely_ managed to escape it, but Excella told me things still worked out.”

“Oh my God.” The horror of it all was beginning to dawn on her. “Who _are_ you?” Sherry rasped again.

Sean sighed dramatically, but the gun in his hand didn't waver. “I already told you part of it when I saw you in New York, remember? The Consortium was suspicious of Excella's new business partner. I was sent to check out the situation. But my _real_ mission was to get close to you, Wesker's supposed daughter, and get intel on him through you. Didn't quite work out, though.”

Despite her rising panic, Sherry sensed something at the edge of her consciousness. Something was...approaching.

“And you still helped Excella _sell me_?!” she screamed as her arms fell to her sides and she nearly doubled over with anguish.

“Hey, hands where I can see them!” Sean shouted with a ferocity she'd never heard before. Sherry obeyed and swallowed hard as she stared down her betrayer. “Look, it was nothing personal,” he went on. “And Wesker was the real target. They weren't interested in you back then.”

 _Him?_ a voice that was not hers murmured in her ear, just as she'd whispered to Jill earlier that day.

“You used me,” Sherry hissed.

“I'm pretty sure we used each other,” Sean said. “It probably would've been a good time, but it's for the best that we never actually slept together. Things would've gotten messy.”

 _Him? Him? Him?_ the voice chanted. No, there were two voices now.

“And _this_ isn't messy?” Sherry spluttered. “How can you just...just...”

“Really?” Sean made an incredulous face. “That's rich. 'I want to run this shit.' _You_ said that once. _You_ wanted Excella's head on a spike. _You_ tried to play the game. And now you're going to pull the little-miss-innocent act?” Sean shook his head with disdain. “What a hypocrite.”

“But I was trying to _save_ someone!” Sherry protested. “I was trying to save my fa—”

“Oh come on! He's not your father. Excella told me all about it.” Sean paused to chuckle. “And look at you now. You're nothing without your creepy boyfriend.”

There was movement below them, a shuffling along the ravine's sandy floor. Sherry didn't dare look down. She had to be calm. She had to keep stalling.

Sherry took a deep breath and asked, “So why does the Consortium want me now?”

“Okay, this is the _last_ one I'm going to answer. Then we gotta go,” Sean chided, letting his handgun bob for a moment as if to remind Sherry it was there. “Anyway, the Consortium suspected for a long time that you were _the_ Sherry Birkin. I was able to confirm that thanks to Excella's intel. But that still wasn't enough to justify bringing you in. They needed more.” Sean's grin got even wider. “Then last night happened and I just had to call it in, ya know?” He shrugged. “So in the end, I guess you're only a pawn. Sorry, babe.”

The voices were loud now, ringing in her ears. _Him? Him? HIM?_

Sherry hunched her shoulders and dropped her hands to her sides, arching her fingers into claws. “I am _not_ a pawn,” said said quietly. “I am the Red Princess.”

“Sure, whatever,” Sean scoffed with a roll of his eyes. Then below them, a guttural roar rang out, rattling the whole canyon. “The hell was that?!” Sean yelled. He shrank back, eyes darting around in terror. For a split second, Sean's handgun pointed at the ground. Sherry rushed forward and landed a roundhouse kick that sent Sean tumbling down the ravine's steep embankment.

The lions were waiting at the bottom. They moved in fast and Sean did not even have a chance to scream.


	24. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

_And I won't place a bet_   
_But I knew when we met_   
_That one day we'd come to regret this_

_And that what once was love_   
_Can turn quickly enough_   
_Into something so hard and contentious_

_And hell hath no fury_   
_And death is no jury_   
_Our lives ended before I commenced this_

_But for one final sin_   
_You won't see me again_   
_In the arms of the lethal temptress_

_\--“The Lethal Temptress,” The Mendoza Line_

* * *

  _Kijuju Autonomous Zone, West Africa_

_March 14, 2008_

 “I'm leaving.”

“A prudent decision,” Wesker said agreeably. “You should make yourself scarce before the Consortium's investigators arrive tomorrow. I will arrange everything.” His back was turned to Sherry while he washed his hands in one of the clinic's small metal sinks. He'd insisted on examining her himself.

“No, you don't get it. I'm _leaving_.” Sherry hopped off the examination table. “I won't be a part of this any more.”

Wesker eyed her over his shoulder. “You should get some rest,” he said.

“I'm fine.” She'd slept the better part of the morning and wolfed down a few granola bars not long before Wesker had shown up. Rest was the last thing she wanted now.

“They said you were in shock when you ambled your way back into town this morning. I thought you might've been injured. That was the only reason I wanted to examine you.” Wesker had turned away from the sink and was leaning back on the counter, his arms folded. “They said Armand mortally wounded the last two lions and died protecting you. But it's not true, is it?”

Sherry looked at him but said nothing.

“You made up the story about the lion attack,” he pressed on. “You're the one who shot them. And you were feigning shock. Who taught you to do that?”

“Jack did.”

“Jack? Oh, you mean Krauser.”

“No, I mean Jack.” Sherry reached for the shoulder holster she'd left on a nearby chair. She'd already decided to take it with her; it might come in handy. “And I'm leaving.”

But Wesker stopped her in her tracks with another question. “Why did you kill Armand?” he said. Sherry turned to glare at him and felt her cheeks begin to burn. He could still see straight through her when he needed to. But there was no reason for Sherry to hold back now. She told Wesker everything Sean had confessed, as well as the Consortium’s designs.

“So, I think you can agree,” Sherry concluded, feeling shrillness rising in her throat. “I really do need to leave.”

“Hmmm...” Wesker rubbed his chin, looking more thoughtful than concerned. “It sounds like I'll be making a donation to the Consortium in the near future,” he said.

“Blood money?” Sherry couldn't believe what she was hearing. This was beyond arrogant, even by Wesker's standards. “You think they'll turn a blind eye to Sean's death and stay out of your business, just like that?”

He shrugged. “It will be a sizable donation.”

Sherry crossed her arms and stood up straighter to better meet his gaze. She _would_ make him understand. “And how does that help me right now? The Consortium already knows I'm here. What's to stop them from showing up, guns blazing?”

“I already said, you will leave Kijuju for now and lie low for a while. When the scandal of Armand's death has blown over, you'll return here—”

“Haven't you heard a word I've said!?” Sherry exploded. “Why would I want to come back here? _Why_?”

She seethed in the silence that followed, staring Wesker down. _So this is how it ends between us_ , Sherry thought bitterly. _In a ramshackle medical clinic in the middle of nowhere_. But Sherry did not prod him with her powers; she needed him to let her go of his own free will. It was the only way they'd both know it was over for good.

Then, she saw something go slack within him as Wesker shook his head. “Sherry, I have made...mistakes.” With a sigh, he cross the small room to where she stood and rested his hands on her shoulders. Sherry glanced down at one of his hands but said nothing.

“And I will spend the rest of my life making those mistakes up to you,” Wesker went on, an emotion she could not quite place rising in his voice. Was that desperation? “Things will be different soon. So very, very different. That is why you must come back.”

Sherry started up at the preternatural yellow-red eyes that had never frightened her and searched herself for any remnant of regret or desire. She found none.

“You've been saying that for years, Al,” Sherry told him. “For _years_. 'Just wait and things will be different.' That's what you've always said.”

He seemed confused, taken aback. Wesker said, “I have only ever wanted the best for you.”

That was too much. Sherry wrenched out of his grasp and took a step back.

“Do you? You have a funny way of showing it,” she snapped. “You're just like my dad, you know. He put his work before me, just like you always have. Then his work killed him, killed my mother and almost killed me, too!”

His face darkened at that and he glared at her. “Your father's death was an accident,” Wesker said slowly. It sounded like a warning. Sherry ignored it. If he couldn't take the hint, she was left with no choice but to wound him.

“My father died because he couldn't see anything beyond his lab bench. And neither can you!”

The salvo found its mark. She saw Wesker's eyes widen for a split-second before he growled, “I mourned him, too. I miss him, too.”

“But you never _learned_ for his death!” Sherry pressed on. “You just keep plowing forward, making the same mistakes he did!”

Then it was Wesker's turn to edge away from her. “And what would you suggest I do instead?” he snarled and he drifted to one side.

Then all at once, they were on opposite ends of the small examine room, like two animals in a cage. _That's all we really are, isn't it?_ No, they were better than that. At least _she_ was, and Sherry felt the urge to reason with him.

“What about curing cancer or AIDS?” she asked in a calmer tone. “What about saving the world? Remember that little idea? What ever happened to doing the right thing?”

Wesker snorted—an ugly sound that told her he was past caring. “The right thing? Haven't you realized by now that the 'right thing' never works?”

 _What would your mother think?_ she wanted to say. Instead, Sherry told him, “You can still walk away from this mess.”

“Oh, should I turn myself in?” His tone was petulant as he made sharp gestures in the air with his hands. “Or just abandon my life's work and slink off to Northern California like some acid casualty? Is that what you want me to do?”

Sherry felt the heat rush to her face. He was getting to her. She wanted to yell, to grab him by the collar, to drop down to his level and grapple in the dirt. That was how Wesker always made her feel, and she was tired of it.

Sherry found the side of a supply cabinet with her back, letting it steady her, then said, “Just make an anonymous report to the BSAA, let Excella take the heat and walk away. Wherever you go after that, at least you won't have to pretend any more.”

“A place where I don't have to pretend,” he echoed. “It doesn't exist. I need to make it.” Wesker moved to sweep past her and leave the room.

Her composure broke and she lunged at him, grabbing Wesker's arm. Sherry felt a naked plea to the man she'd once know rising in her throat, and she let it out. “Please, if I mean anything to you at all—”

“Uroburos _is_ for you!” he thundered down at her. “I am going to make a new world for _you._ You mean everything, Sherry!” There was anger in Wesker's voice. Anger, and something worse.

She shuddered as she searched his pale face. _For me?_ The horror of it all made the four walls of little exam room fall away. For a dizzying moment, Sherry stood on a mountain of corpses and surveyed the monstrous army below as they capered and cackled and flashed their reddened claws. The vision churned her stomach and she squeezed her eyes shut. When Sherry opened them again, she saw the room's cracked tile floor beneath her feet. And she saw the truth, too: There was nothing left in Wesker to reason with.

Sherry let go of his arm. “That's not true, not even on your best day,” she said. “You're doing this for yourself, not for me. That's how it's always been. I never really wanted the world.” Though briefly she had, if only to compete with Excella. “What I wanted was...” Sherry sighed and look towards the exam room's door.

She wanted a piece of earth to call her own. Perhaps an old farmhouse with land enough for a child and dogs to run on, or a city apartment high in the sky. Maybe both. Sherry imagined quiet evenings: she was learning a new Chopin piece on the piano as a man read in a chair next to the fireplace. But when when that man set his book down and came to her side, she saw that he did not have Wesker's face.

As if sensing her thoughts, shifted uncomfortably beside her. It was time to leave this stuffy little room. It felt as if they'd been trapped in it together for hours, for years.

“Well, you know that old saying,” Sherry told him, not caring if she sounded catty. “Everybody wants to change the world, but nobody thinks about changing themselves.”

Wesker frowned down at her. “I am making a fresh start, for everyone and everything,” he said coldly. “Don'tI deserve that?”

_A fresh start._

“Don't I?” she said.

* * *

“The London house is yours to use whenever you wish,” Wesker told her as they walked along a narrow road made of packed yellow earth. The sun had passed its zenith and the worst of the afternoon's heat had settled it. The bright light set the lenses of Wesker's sunglasses ablaze, turning them into two ovals of whiteness. It was an unsettling effect, and made it hard for Sherry to look at him.

“It is too valuable—I would never divest myself of that property,” he went on. “Though I cannot foresee ever living there again.”

Sherry nodded but did not reply. This was just a ploy to keep them tied together. After all this time, he was “allowing” her to go home. The words Wesker left unsaid were, _Surely this counts for something, does it not?_

But he didn't realize London wasn't home any more. It had not been for a very long time. Home was a place they'd made together. They'd taken home with them wherever they went, and they'd destroyed it together, too. Now the townhouse was nothing more than a mausoleum. And how could Sherry live there, knowing what was in the basement, locked in a climate-controlled vault? Even though she'd never suffered a test subject's fate, she'd been a part of that collection of viruses and parasites all the same. But she had to start somewhere, and Wesker didn't need to know that she'd be leaving Britain almost as soon as she arrived.

She shifted the weight of the backpack that carried her few belongings and said, “Alright. Put me on a plane to London.”

“When you reach Lagos, the ticket will be waiting for you at the airport. I will transfer some funds into your name as well.”

“Not a lot, I hope.” She wouldn't need much, nor did she want much.

“Of course not,” Wesker said. Sherry stole a glance at him as they walked on in silence. There was a heaviness to him today. If she hadn't known him better, she'd say he looked sad. But Sherry didn't blame herself. He was broken, but it wasn't her job to fix him.

* * *

The Jeep was idling when they reached the intersection—such as it was—where the larger road led out of town. Wesker said a few words to the driver then came back to her side.

“Your driver knows a safe place for you to stay the night. As long as all the roads are open, you'll cross into Nigeria tomorrow. Do you have all your papers?” He was like a father sending his child on a trip.

Sherry looked up at him and nodded, suddenly overcome by the feeling that if she tried to speak, she'd break down in tears. But unlike the last time she left him, these would be tears of relief, not grief. She turned her head to look back at Kijuju one last time, then she furrowed her brow and she realized something was chaffing against her sweaty skin. Sherry set her backpack down and reached around the back of her neck to unclasp her necklace. She held it out by the chain.

“Take these, so you can look at them and remember.”

“Remember?” Wesker looked baffled.

“Yes. Remember how it was, how it used to be for us.”

Wesker's face softened then, and he opened his palm to receive the gold chain that held her locket and the pearl ring. Sherry made sure not to touch his hand as she let go of the pieces of jewelery.

“You don't want them anymore?” Wesker's had closed around the locket. She saw the ring's diamonds winking between his fingers. They were her past. They were her yolk. It was time to pass the burden on.

“I don't need them,” Sherry said.

He nodded, put the jewelry into his pants pocket, then asked, “Is Excella the reason you're leaving?”

“She's one reason,” Sherry admitted. “She's been the reason for a lot of things, but not everything. Still, it's not my problem any more.”

It did not feel liberating, letting go of her old ambitions. She'd enjoyed sending Sean to his death, was satisfied to have finally avenged herself. No, this was more like ripping off a Band-Aid. Still, Sherry finally saw how dangerously close she'd come to letting revenge consume her, just as it had done to Jack. She'd thought she was going about it a different way, a better way, but that wasn't true. _Not even on my best day._

Now there was something Sherry needed to know. “What will you do if I try to stop you?”

The corner's of Wesker's mouth twitched. “I would not advise that,” he intoned.

“That's the real reason you need Excella, isn't it? It's why you've always needed her: Because she won't try to stop you.”

Wesker said nothing, but he looked away from her, down at the yellow, dusty earth. That was all the confirmation Sherry needed.

“Well, I need to go,” she said.

“Yes, of course.” Wesker cleared his throat and held her in his gaze for a long, uneasy moment before asking, “And what will the Red Princess do next?”

In spite of herself, Sherry cocked her head, bemused. “You finally believe that, huh? About what I am?”

“About what you are meant to do in the world, yes,” he began, his voice wavering, then finding its even strength. “My equal,” Wesker said. “And my nemesis.”

Sherry looked him over once more, knowing it was true, and took in his pressed khakis, white shirt with its unbuttoned collar and rolled up sleeves. Wesker was still playing an innocuous businessman to the hilt. But this was how she wanted to remember him: as the man she'd once known, not the thing he'd become.

“I'm strong because of you,” Sherry said, taking a step towards him. The words seemed to tumble out of nowhere, yet she meant it. For all the strange, astounding, awful and inexplicable things that had passed between them over the years, she meant it.

All at once, he close the space between them and put his hand against her cheek. Sherry felt her breath catch in her throat but did not pull away.

“No, you are strong because of _you_ ,” Wesker began urgently. “Sherry, I want you to know that, in my way, I have loved—”

“Don't,” she said, cutting him off. “That word isn't for people like us.”

He smiled down at her and his fingers lingered on her face a moment longer. “Well, there it is,” Wesker said. Then he turned and started to walk quickly away.

The driver got out and asked for Sherry's bag so he could stow it away. She picked it up out of the dirt and handed it to him, then got into the Jeep's passenger side. As the Jeep began to trundle down the road that led out of town, Sherry turned in her seat to look back at Wesker one last time, but he was already gone.


	25. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

  _Oh, where do we begin?_

  _The rubble or our sins?_

  _\--“Pompeii,” Bastille_

* * *

  _March 10, 2009_

  _Boston_

Sherry was nearly finished going through her morning emails when a message from Bianca appeared in her inbox.

 _Bertucci's for lunch, 12:30?_ the email read. Sherry replied in the affirmative but stole a glance over the top of her cubicle, where she could see Bianca sitting at her own desk, and repressed a sigh. At first, she'd been annoyed by Bianca's penchant for sending emails instead of walking the few feet to ask her question face-to-face. But Sherry quickly discovered her other coworkers had this habit, too. It was just the way things were done around the office, and another reminder that she'd been away from the real world for too long. But after a year living on her own in the States, she was finally feeling more settled, if a little bored. 

A year ago, as she'd boarded flight after flight that took her from Africa to London and then finally to New York, she only had freedom on her mind. Freedom, and fear. She was traveling under her old alias of Sherry Trevor—had no choice because that was the only passport Wesker had given her—but would it trigger any alarm bells? Would Alex or federal agents or someone even worse be waiting for her when she got off the plane? But once she'd cleared customs and the mundane chaos of the airport closed in around her, Sherry let herself relax. She'd done it. She stood there in the middle of the grey-white terminal and knew she was utterly free. No more lies and scheming and blood. Perhaps someday she'd have to revisit that world—she _was_ the Red Princess, after all—but for now, it was time to just live.

She'd begun her job search by looking up her old colleagues from Tricell's executive training program, and quickly learned that Bianca was in Boston, working for a pharmaceutical company's PR team. Bianca was thrilled to hear from Sherry. How had she been? Bianca had always felt badly about Sherry's sudden departure from Tricell. And oh yes, Bianca's department _did_ have an opening! Did Sherry want to apply? A few emails later, Sherry was using the last of her cash to buy an interview outfit and a bus ticket to Boston.

Sherry could tell her interviewer was impressed when he saw Tricell's executive training program on her resume. She just didn't know how impressed he was until he called her the next day to offer her the job. 

“I don't think they even called your references,” Bianca had intoned dryly a few days later when they were having lunch to celebrate Sherry's first day at work.

Sherry liked Boston, more or less. The oldest parts of the city were essentially 18th-Century Europe set down in the New World, a fact that made her feel inexplicably at ease. She had a small but decent apartment in the Allston neighborhood. There was plenty to do and it was nice to meet people who didn't know anything about her, who didn't need or want anything more than for her to do her job and show up to happy hour. Sherry even went on a few dates, though none of them led to anything more than chaste goodnight kisses.

By the end of her first spring in Boston, Sherry knew something was undeniably missing. But she hadn't been able to put her finger on what that “something” was until her first visit to the Gardner Museum. The museum was a Gilded Age mansion that housed a massive art collection. She'd slowly walked through room after grand room, each one stuffed full of artworks from the world over. Ancient, medieval, Renaissance, masters and anonymous craftsmen alike—all were housed here in hallowed silence. In that quiet, the works came alive. A landscape painting reminded Sherry of the Pyrenees. Sargent's watercolors of Venice made her miss Europe madly. A marble bust had Jake's—and his father's—eyes. She sighed when she saw a Japanese screen depicting a warrior on a black horse. A wall covered in red damask became a bed she'd once known well. Sherry saw the truth of it: there had been horror in her old life, but there'd been passion, too. She looked at the portraits of long-dead grand ladies, remembered her own portrait that was still hanging in the empty house in London, and found herself holding back tears.

Once, she'd been a fairytale princess. Now, she was Sherry Trevor, just another PR girl at just another company. She was free. She was safe. She was no one.

Was this really what she wanted?

* * *

With lunch settled on, Sherry went back to her queue of emails. There was a message from Ashwin. He'd included a bunch of photos from a trip he'd just taken to India. Sherry skimmed the pictures and made a note to give them a closer look later.

Ashwin had visited Boston the previous summer. He, Sherry and Bianca had gone to a bar across the street from the Granary Burying Ground (“the only place in the world where you can drink a cold Sam Adams while looking at a cold Sam Adams”) and talked about old times. Sherry got to hear all about how he'd quit Tricell, moved back to Toronto, found a great new job and an even better boyfriend.

Then, inevitably, they talked about Sean. The news had been slow to get around, but they'd all heard about his death by then. Sherry had looked down at her drink while Bianca and Ashwin solemnly recounted what they knew. Sean had been in West Africa, on assignment for the Consortium. Something about AIDS research. Or maybe it was malaria? But then there was an accident.

“What sort of accident?” Sherry had asked. “I mean, I knew he'd died, but I never heard the full story.” She wanted to know what others were saying about the incident. 

“I heard it was a car crash,” Ashwin had offered. “So sad. He was the smartest one of us. So much potential.”

 _If you only knew the half of it_ , Sherry had mused.

“Well _I_ know a guy who works for the Consortium down in Washington, and he said it was super scandalous,” Bianca put in. “Some people said there'd been an attack, you know, by wild animals and, uhh...” Bianca paused to grimace at the table. “He said the funeral was closed-casket.”

Ashwin had shuddered at that. “ _Yeesh_. Poor guy.”

“How about you, Sher?” Bianca had asked next. “Did you hear anything else about what happened?”

“Nope.” Sherry still hadn't looked up from her drink. Her friends probably just thought she was sad. 

Then Bianca had brightened. “You know, Sean always said you had a great singing voice. Like, it was your hidden talent.”

“Huh, I never knew that!” Ashwin said. “Do you still sing?”

“No,” she'd told them, and left it there. Yes, the pain was gone, but so was the magic.

* * *

 _And...inbox zero!_ Sherry smiled triumphantly at her computer screen. Some days she didn't finish sorting through emails until nearly noon. She'd just started working on a press release when the phone on her desk rang. She looked at the number flashing on the phone's display. It wasn't one she recognized. It wasn't even a local number. Well, nothing too unusual about that. She often got calls from all over the U.S. and sometimes from other countries. But why did she suddenly have an odd feeling in her stomach? It was the same feeling that had been plaguing her on and off for a few days now, though Sherry never got sick. 

She picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Ah, yes. Is this Sherry Trevor?” the voice on the other end of the line asked. She recognized the clipped lilt of London in the caller's voice.

Sherry paused for a moment before she answered. “This is she. What can I do for you?” Then added, “And to whom am I speaking?”

The man identified himself as a lawyer at a firm with a long, impressive name. He was indeed calling from London, and he sounded very, very nervous.

Sherry's eyes flicked to the clock in the corner of her computer screen. 9:15am. That meant it was only one in the afternoon in England. Still normal business hours, but something wasn't right.

“What can I do for you?” she asked again, forcing a bit of cheerfulness to try to put the man at ease.

“I, that is we, my firm, represent certain, ah, interests and it is my sad duty to...to inform you...I'm very sorry, miss Trevor. I've never had to do anything like this before.” The voice on the other end of the line drew in a breath, then went on. “I am calling about your father.” 

She was bewildered. “What do you mean, my father? My father is dead.”

“Yes, miss. I'm afraid so,” the lawyer said.

* * *

Sherry's boss' face fell when he heard the news. “Go home if you need to,” he said softly. “Just email me when you know how long you'll be gone and you can file the family emergency stuff with HR later.”

Sherry thanked him, then stopped by Bianca's cubicle on her way out of the office. Bianca leapt out of her chair when she heard the news.

“Oh my God, Sherry. I'm so sorry!”

 Sherry limply accepted her friend's hug. “Thank you,” she murmured. _You never liked him,_ Sherry longed to say _. You thought he was weird. You thought he was creepy._

“You let me know if you need anything, okay?” Bianca insisted. “Really, anything at all.”

“Sure, sure,” Sherry said between long sighs. But she'd barely noticed what Bianca said. Her heart was racing and all she could hear was the lawyer's shaking words in her mind. _An accident in Africa...somewhere called Kijuju._

* * *

Sherry left her office and started home in a daze. She looked around at the buildings and streets that she passed every day. They seemed different now. It was like every object around her was a balloon that had been anchored to the ground by thin strings. Those strings had suddenly been cut, and now everything was floating upwards, _falling_ upwards. 

The bus ride back to her neighborhood seemed to take an eternity. By the time she got off at her stop, her hands had begun to shake. Heat was rising within her and welling behind her eyes. Sherry walked fast, and as she felt her breaths turn to sobs, walked faster still. By the time she'd rounded the corner of her street, she'd broken into a full run, heedless of the the damage she was doing to her high-heeled shoes.

But Sherry did not start to cry until she was back at her apartment and even then, not until she'd reached the bathroom. With a wail that sounded so loud in her ears, she was convinced the whole block heard it, Sherry sank down to the floor, curled her knees up to her chest and began to sob.

In the room's semi-darkness, her world narrowed to the tile floor and her tears and the searing pain shooting through her body. Was this what it felt like when stitches burst?

_He's dead._

Sherry saw red in front of her eyes, she saw blood. How, when, why had it happened? Terrifying possibilities choked her mind. The lawyer had confessed that the details were sketchy. He'd promised his colleagues at the firm's Boston office would be able to tell her more. But that meeting was a full day away. How was she supposed to cope until then?

 _He's dead!_

A thousand memories paraded through her mind at once. It was like a dam had burst and she pressed her palms to her forehead as if to hold it all in.She remembered the waning years of her childhood, long before the night they'd first dared to touch. Even before then, Wesker had been her anchor. He'd been all she had left. She remembered a beautiful summer day in London. Sherry asked him if he wanted to go for a walk. Wesker had raised an eyebrow at that. “In this heat? With all those...those _people_? Châtelaine, I do believe you've found a way to combine my two least favorite things in the world.” And then they'd both laughed.

There were the stolen moment from their years in Zurich, the late nights and early mornings when they'd been together. She remembered the way he'd cupped her face in his hands as her hair fell down over his arms and chest. She replayed the dark times, too, and how they'd driven her away. She relived it all between sobs, there on the cold tile floor. _I hadn't been able to help him, either._ And now Wesker was dead.

 _Are you finally happy, Al, you idiot? Are you happy now?_ She was angry at him, wounded by him this final time, but something deep within her screamed out for vengeance, too. But against whom? Against what? In frustration and horror, she cried out afresh, thrashing uselessly on the floor until she was exhausted. And here Sherry had thought she had no blood left to bleed for him. She had never been so wrong.

* * *

She dreamed. Sherry saw a child with red-gold hair standing at the top of a staircase, smiling and beckoning to her. Somehow, she knew it was not the child she'd lost.

In the living room, her cell phone trilled and Sherry's head snapped up. As first, she saw nothing but hazy darkness, then she realized it must be evening. Had she fallen asleep on the bathroom floor? Gingerly, Sherry stood up and walked through her apartment, switching on lights as she went. Then she backtracked to the bathroom where she splashed her eyes with water and went through half a box of tissues to clear her stuffy nose. Then Sherry gazed at her puffy face in the mirror and tried to take stock of the situation. She had indeed slept the afternoon and much of the evening away, but she did not feel better for having rested. Her muscles ached, and her mind was a numb fog.

Sherry scowled at her reflection. _Focus!_ Yes, the law firm had an office in downtown Boston. The London lawyer had instructed her to go there tomorrow morning. There were matters of property to settle, and apparently she was Wesker's sole heir. But that mattered less to her than finding out what had happened in Kijuju. All she had to do was make it through the night. Still, that felt like a very tall order.

Sighing as she went, Sherry shuffled into her living room, switching on lights as she went. She hadn't felt like this since Africa— hungry and nauseous at the same time, simultaneously exhausted and wired. There would be no sleep tonight, that for was sure. She checked her cell phone and saw a text message from Bianca checking up on her, as well as a missed call from a phone number she didn't recognize. The number had a New York City area code.

Sherry tensed up. Someone knew where she was, and they might be coming for her. She had a sinking feeling about who that “someone” might be, too.

She still felt groggy as she hurried to her small bedroom, threw off her wrinkled work clothes and changed into jeans, a long T-shirt and, for good measure, a tall pair of flat-heeled boots. Sherry took her pistol out of its hiding place in the closet, put in a fresh clip and tucked into her waistband. Then she slid Krauser's old knife into her right boot. It was one of the few personal items she'd refused to leave behind when she'd fled Kijuju. Its cold weight made her feel safer at once. Still, she wanted her instincts to be wrong. She wanted to write off the whole day as a bad dream that she could still wake from. But what if the past year had been the dream? _Then that means I'm awake in more ways than one._

When she went back to the living room, Sherry pressed her back to the wall and carefully parted the curtains with one hand and peered down to the street below. She didn't see any unusual cars. But then, the doorbell sounded.

Sherry's eyes flicked to the intercom on the wall by her front door. She could pretend she wasn't home and wait for them to give up. She could...

The doorbell rang again and she jumped at the noise. Her vision swam and she started breathing fast. Sherry slapped her palms against the wall. _No! Stop this!_ Every second spent on panic was a second she gave her pursuers. Jack had taught her that.

Sherry set her jaw and stared down the innocent intercom panel. She could try to run. She could wait for them to come for her, then try to fight her way out.

 Or she could do the one thing that no one expected: she could buzz them in.

* * *

“Where's Jessica?” was the first thing Sherry said when she opened the door and saw Alex and Carlos standing in the hall. Sherry realized she had no idea if her old foe was alive or dead. 

“She told me, and I quote, 'If I ever see that bitch again, I'll slit her throat,'” Alex said in her usual languid tone as she crossed the apartment's threshold. “I'm afraid the 'bitch' in question is you, so I left her in New York.”

Alex pulled off her gloves and took in the small apartment with narrowed eyes, saw the second-hand furniture, décor from Target and the older-model television. She pursed her lips as if to say, _how the mighty have fallen_. Sherry could almost laugh. She hadn't seen the older woman in two years, but she was the same old Alex.

 _Wait...it's more than that_. Sherry looked straight at Alex. _She hasn't aged a day_ , Sherry realized—not unlike Wesker, who'd only begun to look his age after the strain on his mind and body had become too much to bear.

Without another word, Alex sat down on the drab couch Sherry had just bought off Craigslist. She was dressed in head-to-toe black, but Sherry figured it was for style's sake, not mourning. Carlos was the dour-looking one. He trailed Alex's steps and then took his place standing next to the couch, hands folded in front of him. He cast a cursory glance at Sherry where she stood on the other side of the small living room. His eyes met for a split-second and Sherry held in a gasp. Carlos looked shattered.

Sherry had only let them in to glean information and was about to launch into her questions when the older woman beat her to the punch.

 “Well, you've heard the news by now?” Alex said.

“About Al, yes.”

Alex stiffened in her seat, flexing her long fingers over the tops of he legs. “And Excella, too.”

 _Excella?_ Sherry looked up at Carlos again, but he was staring resolutely out the window, his jaw clenched.

“What about her?” she asked softly, forcing herself not to sound upset. If that woman had somehow lived while Al had died...

“Good Lord, Sherrele! You haven't _heard_?” Alex lurched forward, snatching the TV remote off the coffee table and pressing the power button. “What's CNN's channel here? Oh wait, you're already on it...”

Sherry's eyes shot up to the TV set, where an overhead view of a smoking, yellowed town—probably taken from a helicopter—was splayed across the screen. 

“Again, this is a breaking news story. We're waiting to hear more.” The anchor's voice was tense, verging on confused. “This video you're seeing right now—it's coming to us courtesy of the BSAA. Apparently the incident began several days ago...”

 _Suspected bioterror attack in West Africa,_ read the news ticker at the bottom of the screen. _Hundreds feared dead._

Sherry felt herself body go numb. What the hell had Al _done_?

“I'm sorry, I have to interrupt you,” the anchor said to the field reporter he'd just been questioning. “But we're getting reports that an executive with Tricell—the pharmaceuticals giant we now know was actively working in the Kijuju region—an executive named Excella Gionne, is among the casualties.”

Sherry slumped into the recliner beside the couch, too stunned to cry out or speak. _Breathe, breathe!_ she reminded herself as her vision blurred and she ceased to see the room around her. Then, as her mind cleared, Sherry noticed Alex was watching her, silently and narrowly with her amethyst eyes, so she covered her own eyes with her hand. She could scarcely believe it—all those years longing for Excella's death, and now this. She felt nothing but shock, nothing but horror. 

And what of Robert and Adam and the other miners? There'd been no time to say goodbye. She'd sloughed them off like dead skin, just as she'd done with so many other friends. No, it was worse this time. _I left them to die._

Alex's voice interrupted the torture. “The town's children died first, I'm told.” The older woman paused to sigh and turn off the television. “It's often the way with this type of outbreak.”

The memory of children playing soccer and hopscotch in Kijuju's alleys cut into Sherry, making her wince. _I left them_ all _to die._

Had this destruction been Wesker's plan all along? No. It couldn't be. Not the man who'd once told her he wanted to save the world from itself. _But I know damn well that he changed._

Sherry looked up at Alex through the web of her fingers. “What happened to Al?” she asked, holding in fresh tears. “How did this happen?”

Alex and Carlos exchanged puzzled looks. When she turned back to Sherry, an expression akin to panic had disrupted Alex's perfect features.

“You don't...I mean, he didn't call you? Didn't contact you at all?” the older woman spluttered as she lurched forward in her seat.

Sherry shook her head. She'd had no contact with Wesker since leaving Kijuju. Then, through her haze of grief, Sherry realized something: _Alex didn't know I'd left him_.

The older woman was rambling now. “I only tracked you down after I heard about my brother's death, and I assumed he'd sent you to the States for a...a reason?” Alex paused, trying to regain her composure. “Then why are you here?” she asked, her voice reedy and high.

Sherry shrugged. The urge to weep had evaporated. “You tell me,” she said glibly, and Alex scowled at her. It was quite a sight: The all-knowing Alex Wesker, taken off-guard. Sherry hadn't expected pumping Alex for information to be _this_ easy, but didn't let her satisfaction show. 

“Fine,” Alex huffed. She smoothed back a strand of hair that had broken free from her immaculate bob then straightened her shoulders. “According to my assets on the ground, my brother went quite mad at the end,” she began. “He and Excella had amassed resources to release Uroboros on a massive scale—total biological warfare. The survivors would be worthy of his new world. And he and Excella got themselves killed for it.” She snorted out a laugh, then grinned and shook her head as if Wesker had pulled a boyish prank. “My brother, always overreaching. Always wrong.”

Sherry furrowed her brow, looking at the living room wall and then past it. Release Uroboros on the world? Again, the day's revelations clashed violently with the memories of the man she'd known. Surely, when Wesker once told her he intended to use Uroboros, he'd meant to do something else—something less cartoonish, less desperate. All at once, Sherry wanted nothing more than to see him one last time. She sprang out of her chair and began to wring her hands, powerless against the nervous need to _do_ something.

“He'd dead for sure? Listen, if there's a body they think is his, I'm willing to iden—”

“Sherrele.” Alex cut her off, purple eyes flashing. “He was burned. Burned completely. There's no body _to_ identify.”

The words hit like a blow to the stomach. She fell back into the recliner, gripping the armrests and doubling over as if she'd really been struck. For a moment, she thought she was going to throw up. But Alex, unfazed, was still talking.

“All the reports I've gotten my hands on a consistent. He died in a fight against the BSAA. And if there was even the slimmest chance he'd survived, they still be hunting him down.” Alex flicked some lint off the front of her blouse. She seemed annoyed instead of upset, and so very, very blasé. Sherry found her revolting. Alex went on like a socialite bemoaning a caterer's error. “The whole situation boggles the mind. He was positively careless.”

That was a bridge too far. Fresh, hot anguish brought Sherry to her feet again. “He wasn't a careless man!” she shouted at Alex. “We once left a restaurant because he didn't like the font the menu was printed in! He lived and _breathed_ detail!” Heaving her own breaths, Sherry looked to Carlos, who'd ben snapped out of his reverie by Sherry's outburst. His eyes were sunken and red, but he shook his head at her and Sherry instantly knew that he was very much on the job. She couldn't lose control. If she did, he'd put her down without another thought. Sherry looked back at Alex and calmly told her, “If anything, he cared too much.”

But Sherry knew it was more than that. Wesker had clearly snapped once and for all. He'd tried to do this final, horrid thing. And even if she'd been there, she could not have stopped him, any more than she couldn't have stopped him years ago—and didn't stop him because her need for him made her foolish, made her fixate on Excella instead of the true menace that was lying next to her in bed.

“That's why you're here middling in obscurity, isn't it? You walked away from him.” Alex cocked her head, the slightest smirk on her lips. “So why did you leave?” 

Sherry was tiring of all this gloating and wanted Alex to get to the point of her visit, so she simply said, “He wasn't himself anymore.”

Alex didn't take the hint and pressed on. “He lost something, didn't he? He lost something more than his mind.”

“You have no right to say that,” Sherry snapped. “You never even knew him.” 

“I knew you,” Alex said with a nod. “I knew his soul.”

Sherry felt heart-struck again and sucked in a pained breath between her teeth. _Not his soul. I was his life. He lost me and then he lost everything._ _Oh God, Al..._

She looked down at the floor so Alex would not see the shine of tears in her eyes. Had Alex come here just to make her feel horrid, to hurt her? _No, she's trying to addle me. She's wearing me down so I'll comply with her._ Sherry stoked her anger for what she knew lay ahead. She wasn't just some part of Wesker that had broken free. She knew that and, in the end, he'd known it too. _And I can carry the best part of what we were._

Sherry wiped her eyes and faced Alex. “Well, now what?” 

“My brother and Excella have left a power vacuum. I intend to fill part of it, naturally. But other people are crowding in, trying to figure out what those two were up to and how they can profit from it.” Alex leveled her long index finger at Sherry's chest. “And that means people are going to have a renewed interest in you.” 

“Lovely. So that means your government crony Simpson is coming for me?” 

“Simmons,” Alex corrected her. “Derek Simmons. And actually, he and I had a falling out, over Ada of all things.” The older woman let out a perfectly regretful sigh. “He didn't agree with my decision to let her go her own way. We haven't spoken in quite some time. But that doesn't mean he wouldn't jump at the chance to take you into custody if he knew you were State-side.” Then Alex got to her feet and said, “Well, come along. It's getting late.”

“Come _along_?” Sherry burst out, making both Carlos and Alex jump a little. Of _course_ that was why Alex was here, but it was still stunning to hear the older woman say it so nonchalantly, as if Sherry's obedient return to her custody was a foregone conclusion. 

Alex looked concerned. “Sherelle, you want to be safe, don't you? I think we both know I'm the only person who can guarantee your safety now.”

 _I've been safe for a year. I didn't need you or Al or anyone to keep me safe._

“And better yet, we can revisit our old plans,” Alex added brightly. “Oh, we'll be busy, make no mistake.”

“I won't be the commander of your army of monsters. I _won't_ ,” Sherry seethed. She glanced at Carlos, who was staring steadily at her, probably waiting for Alex's command to tackle and shackle.

“But Sherrele, that's all anyone wants from you,” Alex said, her voice a parody of sadness. “And ever will. It's who you are.”

Sherry gasped. This felt like the lowest blow of all. Her chest was going to positively burst with anger. Carlos shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but stayed silent.

Alex extended a hand and make a careless little snapping motion, as if calling a dog to heel. “Alright, let's pack up your things and take you home.”

“ _Home_?!” The scream knocked Alex on her knees and Sherry had her gun drawn and pointed at Carlos' head before he could maneuver out from behind the couch, but not before he could pull his own pistol from inside his coat and level it as her. She shook her head once at Carlos, but he did not waver. They could've continued that standoff for minutes, maybe longer, until one of the blinked or wavered, but then a terrible sound at their feet made them both look down. Alex, who had now crumpled to the floor was gasping like someone was choking her. Her purple eyes were wide, and seemed to get bigger with every ragged gasp, and she was staring up at Sherry. But her face did not plead; it only registered shock.

“Ms. Wesker!” Carlos dropped to his knees next to Alex but kept is gun aimed at Sherry with one hand—and unsteady stance, but Sherry was standing close enough that if he shot at her, he wouldn't miss.

“You can't help her,” Sherry said between gritted teeth. She was struggling to concentrate on Alex while keeping her gun trained on Carlos. She was already starting to sweat, already starting to lose control over her measured breathing.

“Stop this!” Carlos shouted as he tried to hold Alex's trembling shoulder. “Whatever you're doing to her, just stop and we'll leave, I promise!”

The fear in his voice thrilled Sherry, making the hairs on her arms stand on end. She looked down at the wretched tableaux she had created and felt a sudden calm come over her. Sherry heard music in her mind, but felt no need to sing. She reached out to Alex, as she had so many other times to creatures who shared her contagion, released the pressure on the older woman's lungs, but then imagined wringing out a dish towel in her hands. Alex let out a short scream as her spine began to twist and crack. Then Sherry told her lungs to deflate again, and Carlos, his face riven with terror, lowered his pistol.

“Chica, _please_ ,” he said, and Sherry knew he wasn't bluffing. Then she knew something else about him, too: Carlos was a man who needed to serve. He'd lived to serve Excella, and he'd failed her. He could not lose Alex. 

Sherry advanced on the pair. “Bet you thought I could only control animals and dumb monsters, didn't you? You didn't count on _this_!” She hissed down at Alex. “Look at me, look at how strong I am. And you think you can come in here telling me what to do?” She felt her words driving into Alex like knives, and the other woman groaned, writhed and curled up on the floor like she was being kicked. “What the hell do you know about home or who I am or Al or _anything_?” Sherry yelled as the color drained from Alex's face and Carlos gathered the convulsing woman to him. “Nothing! You don't know a damn _thing_!” And with that last shouted barb, she let go.

Alex drew in a loud, shuttering breath as she went slack in Carlos' arms. No one spoke for a moment. The only sounds in the room were Alex's rapid gulps of air. Carlos was looking down at his employer, his face slack with relief. _Perhaps his lover, as well?_ Sherry wondered. The idea amused her. But for her part, Alex was oblivious of her bodyguard and was still staring up at Sherry.

“Look at you. You're a masterpiece,” Alex croaked out. “You _belong_ in our world. You were born into it!”

“I know I was born into this,” Sherry conceded. “And I know I have to be a part of it, but you can't tell me what to _do_ while I'm in it.” She let her pistol's aim waver a bit, to remind Alex and Carlos that she was still holding it. “Leave, both of you. Leave now and never contact me again.”

Alex did not respond, but Carlos immediately began to help the older woman to her feet.

As he led Alex towards the door, Sherry said to him, “I know how you felt about her. I'm sorry.” They both knew who she was talking about. “You have to know I had nothing to do with her death. I wasn't even there.”

“I know you weren't there, chica,” Carlos replied softly, and Sherry wondered what hurt him more: the fact that Excella was dead, or that she'd never loved him back. Nevertheless, Sherry was confident she and the mercenary were square. As for Alex Wesker...

“If I ever see you again, I'll finish what I just started,” she told Alex with a nod. 

Still looking stunned, Alex's fingers scrambled to her throat. “I'm certain you will,” she said gravely.

Carlos shut the door gently behind them.

* * *

Sherry arrived at the London law firm's Boston office the first thing the next morning. She sat in a conference room signing sheet after sheet of paper and then it was all hers: the London townhouse, the art collection, and a brimming Swiss bank account she'd never even known about. As lawyers and paralegals buzzed around her like polite bees, Sherry began to make plans. She would sell everything in London and use the proceeds to make anonymous donations to the BSAA and another anti-bioterror group she'd heard of, called TerraSave. She'd keep a small nest egg for herself.

All the paperwork was finished by noon. Sherry left the office building's lobby in a placid mood and resolved to get lunch. She walked a block, the pulled out her phone, overcome with the sudden urge to text Bianca and tell her she was doing well, all things considered.

“On the ground! _On the ground_!” The voices came out of nowhere and closed in around her. Other people on the street gasped and cried out. Sherry looked up from her phone and saw men in navy blue jackets, sunglasses and black baseball caps rushing at her from all side, pistols drawn. Then all at one, she was being pushed chest-down onto the sidewalk by the first man who'd rushed her.

Someone was straddling her back now, pulling her hands together to cuff them, but Sherry managed to turn her head just in time to see a pair of expensive-looking men's shoes step into her field of vision. Straining her neck, she looked up and saw a man in a dark suit standing over her. She saw Derek Simmons.


	26. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

  _But I still wake up_  
 _I still see your ghost_  
 _Oh Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for_  
 _What do I stand for?_  
 _What do I stand for?_  
 _Most nights I don't know anymore_

  _\--“Some Nights,” fun._

* * *

 

  _September 18th, 2009_

_New York City_

St. Paul's Chapel was the oldest church in Manhattan, with a churchyard full of graves that were ancient by American standards. But that wasn't why most people visited it now. They came because of what happened across the street eight years ago.

Chris Redfield had been sitting on a stone bench in the churchyard for a long time. His gaze was fixed on the tall construction fence and rising tower on the other side of Church Street, where people had been stopping all afternoon to take photos, read the giant placards hanging from the fence, or just stand silently for a few moments.

The first phase of the United States' annual Month of National Mourning had just finished and the second part was now gearing up. And smack on the middle of it all was the BSAA's annual Conference on Combatting Bioterrorism—or the CCB, as most attendees called it. Tomorrow would be the last day of the week-long conference and then Chris would be off to London, probably for the rest of he year.

Technically, Chris lived in New York, but his duties as the head of the BSAA's North American branch kept him traveling between the organization's Washington, D.C. office and the international headquarters in London. He was lucky if he spent more than a couple weeks at a time at his Lower East Side apartment. His schedule had been especially busy ever since the Kijuju incident, full of debriefings, meetings and more paperwork than he frankly had the stomach for. Even six months after the mission, he barely had any time to himself, barely had any time for...her.

Maybe a part of him would always feel guilty about what had happened to the woman he still considered his best friend. Maybe that was what drew him to this part of the city this afternoon. It was a good place to be alone with one's thoughts. But the constant reminder, the wound that was so slow to close, was just beyond that fence across the street. The crater that had once been Raccoon City was only open to the public once a year for the September 28th memorial ceremony, but Chris could come to Ground Zero whenever he wanted.

Chris checked his watch. Only 6pm but the sun was already starting to go down. He stood and stretched, hearing the pops and snaps in his back and shoulders. He was still in good physical condition overall, but years of pushing his body past its limits had taken its toll. During rainy weeks like this, Chris felt the full weight of his 36 years. Flecks of gray were slowly intruding on his beard and temples. His sister said it made him look dignified. It just made him feel old. Old, with only a little time left to set things right.

* * *

 

“You should've called before coming over,” Jill said pleasantly enough and she loaded the dishwasher in her apartment's kitchen. She was looking healthier these days. Once the roots of her hair had started coming in brown, she'd dyed it as close to her natural shade as she could get. A summer's worth of walks in Central Park had put color back in her cheeks. Only people close to her—people like Chris—knew about the panic attacks, and the ways she was sometimes withdrawn or inexplicably tired. Still, Jill had made great strides since being rescued in March. The BSAA's retirement plan had granted her full disability benefits and she now shared a two-bedroom apartment in New York's Nolita neighborhood with a young fashion designer named Nadine. Jill had found the place on Craigslist, had insisted on searching for an apartment herself, even though Chris offered to let her stay with him. But Jill had asked where Chris would sleep—he only had one bed, after all—and that was the end of that idea.

“Sorry,” Chris offered as he watched Jill from the other side of the kitchen counter. “I just didn't get a chance to talk to you at the conference today and I wanted to...” Chris looked away from her to temper his nerves. “I'm leaving—getting on a plane for London tomorrow night.”

“Oh, when are you getting back?” The question sounded more polite than earnest.

“I'm not sure. They may need me for a while. There's still some pending hearings on Kijuju.”

Jill shot up from where she'd been crouching over the open dishwasher, and for a moment was completely her old self again. “Oh, and I'm not needed for any of that?” she scoffed, hands on her hips.

Chis chuckled, then said too quickly, “You've been through enough, Jill.” When her face fell at that, he scrambled, “I mean, you've told us everything you can.”

She shook her head. “That's not true. I remember new things sometimes—flashbacks. My therapist is helping me sort through them, then I'd like to add them to the official reports.”

The part of Chris that wanted to know what Jill had recalled about her time in captivity won out of the part that wanted to forget he'd even lost her in the first place, and he softly ventured, “What did you remember?”

“Oh, interesting things, actually.” Jill closed the dish washer door, then faced Chris and rocked back on her heels. “Some stuff that's got me thinking about what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. I feel like I've been given a second chance. My therapist says that people who have near-death experiences or survive a major illness sometimes get this urge to find a calling in life. You know, a greater purpose.”

“But didn't you already have that with the BSAA?” Chris blurted out. _Didn't we already have that together?_

“You don't understand,” Jill sighed. She closed her eyes and pressed her palm to her forehead. “There was a moment, about a year before you arrived in Kijuju, I think. One day, it was like there was another voice in my head. And not his voice, either.” Jill didn't have to say who “he” was. “It was a woman, but I didn't recognize her,” she went on. “Hell, maybe it was _my_ voice. But for a moment, it was like someone had overridden his orders—someone much more powerful than him, if you can believe that.”

Chris was befuddled. Who else besides Excella had been in league with Wesker? “What did this mystery woman say?” he asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

“She said that when the time was right, I would remember who I was. Then she told me, 'Behold a god more powerful than I, who, coming, will rule over me,'” Jill intoned softly in a voice that was not quite her own. Chris held his breath for a moment, but then Jill blinked, shook her head and was herself again. “It was a riddle, I think,” she said.

“A riddle?” They'd both seen their fair share of those over the years. “Did you figure out the answer?”

“Love,” Jill said with a sigh. “Love is more powerful. Always has been, always will be.”

Hoped flared within Chris and he held in a gasp. He'd always thought—no, always _known_ that he'd somehow gotten through to Jill in those horrible moments when she'd been under a madman's control. The kitchen counter was still between them, and he felt like this was his cue to walk to the other side and sweep Jill into his arms.

But then Jill looked up at him and said, “You know, I'm actually really glad you stopped by. There's something I need to tell you.”

“Sure, sure! Anything!” Elation was building in his chest. This was the moment he'd been waiting for ever since Jill's rescue. He could make things right, they could have a fresh start...

“I'm getting out of the game, Chris,” Jill said. “That's why you didn't see me at the conference today. I wasn't there.”

Chris blinked a few times, stunned. “What do you...?” He cracked a lame smile. “Aww, c'mon, Jill.”

How many times had he said those simple words to her? How many times had he used them to snap her out of a funk, or to ask her to follow him into the unknown? Too many times.

With a sigh, Jill closed the dishwasher and moved out from behind the counter to face Chris, but she kept her distance. Chris glance down at the floor and estimated that three paces stood between them—a formal gap this did not speak of their years of partnership. It spoke of something else entirely. He wiped the mollifying grin from his face, looked up at Jill and waited.

“You see, I _did_ remember who I was, just like the voice said I would,” she began. “And I remembered that I never thought any of this would be my life. My mission, sure, but not my whole life.” Jill raised her hand and gestured broadly at the room, but Chris knew the sweep her arm encompassed so much more. She was talking about Raccoon City, their years on the run, all the times they thought they were going to die.

“Then, when you and Sheva rescued me, I got this gift: every day for the rest of my life, I get to decide who I am. Me and only me.” Jill thumped her chest with the palm of her hand as emotion rose in her voice. “And I'm going to find the life I want. That means more no more fighting.”

“Nobody's asking you to fight any more,” Chris said softly.

Jill shook her head. “No, you don't get it. I'm done with anything and everything that started in Raccoon City. I don't even want to do lobbying like Claire does. Hell, I might go hem dresses with my roommate for a while.”

 _She wants to move on. It's her right_ , Chris told himself. But the sudden hardness in her eyes and voice was making his pulse quicken. Jill was talking about turning her back on everything they'd done together. But what if this was the only way she could be whole again? _Support her decision and hold on to her. Hold on any way you can._

“I respect that,” Chris blurted out. “No, I—I totally respect that. Whatever you need me to do—”

“I don't need you to do anything, Chris,” Jill cut in. “The next step in my life is all up to me.” Her voice was steady now and her chin was raised in that defiant way that always let him know her mind was made up. Chris wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. _Jill, Jill, listen to me! You don't have to do this!_

But she did have to. And she had all the sense she needed. Jill's jaw tightened and Chris felt like she was reading his thoughts.

“Don't be angry,” Jill offered quietly. “We'll always be friends. We'll just see each other a bit less.”

_Friends._

“I see,” he said. Chris nodded, then nodded again. He wanted to say something more, to reach out one last time. “Say, uhh, did you have dinner yet?”

“No, I...” Jill's hair fell down across her shoulders as she turned her head away from him. “I have a date tonight. A dinner date.” Then all at once, she was in motion, heading towards the apartment's little foyer. “Actually, I have to go soon,” she called back to Chris.

“Oh,” he managed to get out before following her, before realizing that she was seeing him to the door.

He knew Jill didn't owe him a damn thing. He _knew_ that. Still, he had hoped. And still, it hurt like hell. As Chris stalked away from Jill's building, he pulled out his cell phone and sent a text message that was the manliest distress signal he could think of: _Need beers. Need many beers._

* * *

“Nothing's ever going to be the same.” Chris set down his empty glass and gestured to the bartender for a refill. He'd officially had enough to drink to become philosophical. “Sure, people care about pointless crap again. Movie stars, TV, whatever. But scratch the surface and it's still a mess. It's nothing but conspiracy theories about Raccoon City—about what happened on 9/11 too. And people are still angry. They're still hurting like crazy. Just, you know, scratch the surface...” Chris trailed off and took a long draught of his newly arrived beer.

Leon nodded. “Can't argue with that,” he said with a shrug. Leon was in town for the BSAA's conference, but this was the first time the two men had seen each other outside the conference venue all week. It felt a bit odd, the two of them sitting together with no colleagues or a tempering presence like Claire or even Jill nearby. They could talk as they pleased.

Chris glanced at his drinking partner before taking a swig of beer. The horizontal scar on the younger man's right cheek was hard to ignore at this close distance. But the first thing most people noticed about Leon Kennedy was his piercing gaze—intense blue eyes that seemed to bore right through you. At only 32, Leon cut an imposing figure. Some of their colleagues even found Leon unnerving, but Chris understood: not many people had seen the things they'd seen.

“So what else is new?” Leon asked once he'd secured his own second round, which Chris noticed was bourbon on the rocks.

“Jill's getting out of the game,” he replied glumly. “Gonna go learn to knit or backpack around Thailand or something.”

“ _What_?” Leon sounded genuinely shocked. “I know she took a bit hit, but we still need people like her!”

“I know, I know,” Chris sighed.

Leon paused to make a dent in his drink, then said, “Well, if anybody's earned early retirement, she sure as hell has.”

Chris gritted his teeth and glanced around. The bar's jukebox was loud, drowning out nearly all noise from the rest of the room, and he and Leon were the only patrons sitting at this end of the bar. He banged his glass down on the bar and let his anger spill out. “Goddammit!” Chris groaned. “She's got every right to get better and live her life! But...”

“But?” Leon asked evenly.

“It feels _wrong_ , Leon. We all got sucked into this game for different reasons, but we survived and I think...” Chris lifted his head to consider his reflection in the warped mirror that backed the bar. “I think we've got a duty, you know? We're the only ones who can fight this fight. If there was even a chance of saving lives or shutting down some bastard terrorist, we were there. We tried. We _always_ tried.” Chris had to stop for a moment. He was no longer talking about himself and the larger group of Raccoon City survivors. The hurt was on him, the pain that seared him inside and out, that had been building all day. He made a fist and let it go with his breath. “It's like she's turning her back on everything we ever did together,” Chris said softly. “Turning her back on me.”

There was silence between the two men for a moment, then Leon said, not unkindly, “Wow, so there it is.” Abruptly, Leon's head swiveled towards Chris. His long bangs fell into his face, but Chris could still see he was confused. “Wait, I didn't know you and Jill were, umm, together?”

“We weren't. We were close but I never...” Chris looked down at the drink in his hand, then made himself go on. “I never told her. It was my fault. And now it's too late. She's moved on. She told me as much tonight.” Chris paused to drain his beer and order another. After a moment, he felt the haze of intoxication begin to take him and he quipped, “Funny, she came back from the dead and I lost her anyway.”

“Maybe there's only so much a person can take before they're changed for good, ya know?” Leon offered.

“Maybe, yeah.” Chris snorted and shrugged. His manners were starting to slip, but blessedly, he didn't care. “Ya know, some days I feel like it's all my fault.”

“Feel like what's all your fault?”

Chris grabbed the new beer that had appeared on the bar. “Do you ever think about that Sherry Brikin girl?” he asked. “I know Claire does.”

Leon looked at him quizzically. “She's safe in government custody. Has been for years.”

“Yeah, but she wouldn't _have_ to be if I'd just _done_ something,” Chris grumbled. “We wouldn't be sitting here now...Raccoon City wouldn't even have happened, if I'd just _done_ something about the captain.”

Leon rocked back on his barstool and gave Chris a long, hard look. “Chris, I honestly have no idea what you're talking about.”

“No, no. I've given it a lot of thought.” Chris flapped his hand at his drinking companion, trying to reassure him. “All those years ago, if I'd just _said_ something, if I'd just gotten him to talk to me, I could've stopped all of this from happening. I could've turned it around.”

“You're talking about Wesker, aren't you?” Leon began in a measured tone. “Don't be so hard on yourself. There's nothing you could've done.”

Chris shook his head. “We were close, we were friends. I should've seen what was happening with him.”

“Nobody could've foreseen that.” Leon clamped a hand Chris' shoulder. “Wesker had blood on his hands, not you,” he said as he squeezed Chris' shoulder, patted his arm and then let go. “Maybe we'll make this the last round, eh?”

“I...you're right.” Chris glanced around the room again. No one was staring at them, but he was suddenly embarrassed. He'd started to get wound up, get loud, and he hadn't even noticed. Chris put his elbows on the sticky bar and sighed again. “He was a leader, a natural born leader,” he began, more calmly this time. “The kind that comes around once in a generation. But it all went wrong. I used to think the STARS had the best commanding officer in the RPD. I would've followed that man into hell itself. Then one day, I did. And he left me there.”

The two men sat in silence for a while. Chris stared down at his beer but left it untouched. Beside him, Leon spoke to the bartender. Chris looked up when he realized Leon had a fresh drink in his hand.

“One more for the road, then we'll settle the tab.” Leon was grinning now. Chris realizes he was trying to lighten the mood and made himself sit up straight and focus.

“Well,” Leon said, “all I gotta say is, if Wesker was as bad as everybody says, it's a good thing he never had kids. Imagine how screwed up _they'd_ be.”

Chris let out a laugh as he clinked his beer against Leon's raised glass. “I'll drink to that!”

 


End file.
